


End of the Line

by Abe897



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - World War II, And has been drafted, But he sucks at everything else, Falling In Love, First Kiss, I don’t know much about the technicalities of war, Italy under/after the fascist regime's fall, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Okay :), Period-Typical Homophobia, Peter is Eighteen Years Old, Peter is a great marksman, Pining, Protective Tony Stark, Slow Build, Slow Burn, They’re going to have sex at some point, World War II, but let’s pretend, it's 1943, kind of, mostly after, okay?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:48:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22680187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abe897/pseuds/Abe897
Summary: Peter is drafted in World War II shortly after his 18th birthday. The realities of life at war doesn't suit him very well but he is excellent at hitting a mark with a sniper rifle.An older soldier takes notice and Peter's placed in his team. He soon discovers how he's drawn to this very attractive Sargent Stark, in ways he can't understand.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 40
Kudos: 149





	1. Baptism of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about the technicalities of world war 2.  
> English isn't my first language, so please ignore any erroneous spelling/wording :)  
> Other than that, I hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is pushed into his first fight. The young soldiers' lives turn out to be shortlived.

Peter skid through the mud, the soles of his shoes unable to keep its grip at the soft and moist dirt. His losing struggle to stay upright was about to come to an end when a rough hand suddenly gripped his arm, bringing his inelegant continuous fall to an abrupt end.

"Keep up, soldier," a gruff voice said.

Peter looked up at Colonel Davis, feeling his stomach drop a bit. The scruffy-looking man looked down at him in a cold, disregarding manner.

"Sorry, sir."

Peter felt as though his voice stuck on it's way out his throat. Colonel Davis finally released his arm after a moment, nodded and started moving again. Peter tried to walk faster than he'd done before not wanting to accidentally warrant another scolding. But his feet kept skidding, only for him regain a more or less firm grip at the ground at the last moment. They'd been on the move for what felt like hours, but It had probably been far less than that. Peter that already felt his legs soaring under the heavyweight of his equipment, wondered how his peers could look so unbothered.

The rain, that silently poured down on the marching flock, had the curls sticking to Peter’s forehead. A raindrop fell from his eyelashes, to land on his cheek. It reminded him of when aunt May had kissed him on the cheek. Her tears had been falling too, wetting the skin of his cheek, when she'd said goodbye. His 18th birthday, that happened a few weeks beforehand, hadn't had the same feeling to it as birthdays used to do. They both knew what awaited Peter soon. May had almost broken down where she stood in the kitchen, when the letter informing them that Peter had been drafted, arrived. Peter hadn't known how to neither feel nor react. Should he be proud or frightened? His peers back in the training camp had been proud and excited that they got to be at war. Got to take out some sauerkrauts. Peter was nervous. He never liked shooting.

Ben had taught him how to lie motionlessly, in-and exhaling steadily before pulling the trigger when he'd brought Peter hunting as a child. Sympathy for the beautiful but very dead doe would sting his eyes after he'd hit his mark. Ben had never given him a hard time about it. He would simply say that death was part of life while patting Peter on his head.

All things must die.

Peter lifted his head when reverberating booms started being heard from afar. The sounds of war became increasingly louder as their marching continued and unease began spreading throughout the flock. No voices could be heard among them as the threat of impending death inched ever so closer in on them. White tents began appearing soon after, and Peter quickly realized the purpose of them. Screaming of pain and yells of impotence drifted through the wind in between the loud booms from the horizon. They were soon surrounded by bloodied samaritans with exasperated facial expressions and men with pained or just empty eyes in soldiers’ uniforms on stretchers or beds. Some were screaming others just stared emptily at the newcomers. The marching around him came to a halt when they reached the edge of the outpost. The outpost had been placed in the vicinity of what once might have been a city but had now been reduced to rubbles and ruins. The line they'd been marching in was now addressed by Davis.

"Listen up, soldiers!" He yelled roughly.

"We are here to help fight off those damned Sauerkrauts! We will regain control of this territory and we will do it for Great Britain! She deserves our full devotion, and I will personally shoot every last one of those that might think it will be acceptable to come crawling back here!"

Peter could feel his face going pale, and he suddenly felt like throwing up. He couldn't feel his legs or hands. Could this really how God had intended him to die from the earthly plains?

"Now, drop your bags, and take whatever arms you get assigned at the end of this line!"

Davis looked as though he couldn't care less what happened to them beyond this. It probably wasn't his problem either. His assignment had probably just been to get them from England to wherever they were now. Peter wondered briefly how many young soldiers he’d sent off like this, and how many he’d seen afterward.

"May God be with you and make our motherland proud!"

With that, he stepped back and the young troops started shedding bags and other unnecessary luggage. Peter did the same but kept thinking of how pointless his previous struggles had been, if he was just going to die, before getting to use any of the clothes, the mug, and a blanket.

As the line decreased, Peter became able to see the end of it. The remains of a building were now the only thing separating them from the war. The deafening sounds of bombs going off from somewhere behind the smoke blurred the knowledge of whether it was Peter shaking or the ground beneath him. A particularly massive boom had the flock crouching down, frightened of being hit. An older soldier off to the side yelled at them, but Peter couldn’t hear over the sharp tone inside his ear. It took a moment before Peter understood that he was hurrying them to continue down the trail of mud. Peter’s brain couldn’t keep up, as the line he’d marched in became more compact as they were herded forwards. His front, back, and shoulders were being squeezed between the bodies of others. Peter looked around at the panicked faces surrounding him, his heart pounding faster. It reminded Peter of a flock of cattle being herded to slaughter. He needed to get a sniper rifle. It was his only chance. If he could get a sniper rifle so that he could fight from a distance he might stand a chance. If he could fight from a hideaway he might not die. But the hardness of a regular rifle was what he got stuck in his arms when he reached the end of the line. He looked at the man that had given him the firearm, but he had already moved on the next soldier behind Peter.

"Excuse me-" tried Peter, but his voice was drowned out by the commotion and bombs.

"Excuse me! Please give me a sniper rifle-" He tried again but to no avail.

The bodies from behind pushed him out through a missing piece of the wall. And now they ran. Peter did too. Bodies fell to the earth around Peter. He didn't notice. When they reached a point that seemed to have been the square of the city, their flock had become considerably less compact. Peter didn't wonder why. Opposing, soldiers became apparent some twenty meters from his position. He knelt behind a larger piece of rubble and lifted his rifle to his shoulder. The aim was terrible and his hands were shaking. He hit nothing when he pulled the trigger. Suddenly he felt hands tug at his rifle roughly and looked to his side to see another young soldier at the other end of it. His sweat-drenched face was panicked and his chest was heaving.

"Give me your rifle!" He yelled, spit hitting Peter's face.

"Wh-what?" Peter was confused.

"I lost mine. Give me your goddamn rifle!" He yelled again, leaving no room for discussion.

"Like hell, I will!" yelled Peter back and tried to swat the other's hands, off his rifle.

The man lunged at Peter beginning to wrestle him for the gun. Peter was caught off guard. He hadn't expected that he'd be fighting people from his own side. They tossed around for a short while, but the other was by far stronger than Peter. He soon had the better grip at the rifle and yanked it out of Peter's hands. He then slammed the handle of the gun into Peter's face.

The sharp pain of the blow was quickly replaced by an absence of everything, his world darkening.


	2. Against the Grain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony meets another surviving soldier in the aftermath of the battle. He's soon impressed with the young man.

Tony lied completely still behind the rubble, trying to feign at being dead. The battle had been finished and they had lost. It had been a great strategic failure if you asked him. So many lives lost for nothing. A distant commotion caught his ears, drawing him out of his train of thought.

"No- No- Please-"

The words were abruptly cut down by the sound of a gun going off. Tony's muscles spasmed on their own account in chock, his eyes squeezing shut. The Germans were shooting every lifeless man that might be unconscious or playing dead. Tony gritted his teeth. What the hell happened to the Geneva Convention? Besides, they'd already won this one, for God's sake. Was it really necessary? He gripped his sniper rifle, knuckles white with anticipation and anger. This position had been a feversaving when he'd tried to make his way back to the outpost. His right hand - his triggering hand - had been messed up pretty badly by a German bayonet earlier. The wound was filled with mud, and Tony knew he would have to get it treated as soon as possible if he didn't want it to turn into an amputation. Despite all this, it seemed impossible for him to not do anything. Besides, they would sooner or later reach where Tony was hiding.

He rolled on to his stomach slowly and silently, peeking over the rubble. Five German soldiers were walking around, their shoes kicking lifeless bodies. One of them paused at a body he'd just kicked. He dug his bayonet into the motionless body after a moment of contemplation. The British soldier was already dead.  Tony slowly lifted his sniper rifle, placing it on top of the rubble that hid him.

"Psst-" A whispering voice sounded to his right.

A young man, British soldier, lied not far from himself. His face was dirtied by the mud, as well as blood from a head wound.

"Excuse me sir- you won't get a good aim from there- it'll just alert them of our position if you don't get them at first try…"

His voice was a quiet whisper. He motioned towards himself and his position.

"If you would allow me, sir?"

Tony considered it for a moment. The young man was right. It would be stupid of him to try, and his stupidity would cause not only his own life but also the young man. It would especially be a great risk with the state his hand was in. Tony supposed that it couldn't hurt anything to let the kid try, so he handed him the sniper rifle. The young man placed the firearm at a hole in the rubble, close to the ground, positioning himself in relation to it. He put his eye to the aim, only to pull a bit away again to try and wipe the blood and mud out of his vision. But it seemed only to make it worse since both his hand and sleeve were filled with the mud like everything - including themselves - around them. Tony rummaged his pocket fishing a handkerchief out. It wasn't clean, but it was better than nothing.

"Here, use this." He whispered to the other, reaching it over to him.

The younger took it with a small nod and wiped his eye and forehead. The absence of blood and dirt revealed a pair of brown doe-like eyes to Tony, and he noticed suddenly how young the man in reality looked. He could barely be called a man if you asked Tony. He was a mere boy. Tony started questioning whether giving him the rifle had been the right move. But the boy went back to aiming at the opponents with no hesitation or uncertainty. He breathed slowly in and out, his shoulders barely moving with the motion. Then he pushed in on the trigger.

It went off with a loud bang, the boy accommodating the recoil with ease despite his body being small. Tony saw one of the men fall to the ground lifelessly, a bullet having gone directly through his head. The others started yelling and looked around trying to see where it'd come from, but they didn't have time to do much more before the boy expertly dropped them as well. 

Tony got goosebumps - the good kind - from how the boy executed the men with such great skill. All through the head. His movements fluid like he was painting a masterpiece of the baroque era.

Silence followed when the firing stopped, every German in their vicinity dead. But both Tony and the boy lied still for a moment longer just to be on the safe side. When the silence continued, Tony could only assume that they were free of Nazis. For now at least. He breathed out in relief, his head slumping between his shoulders.

"Great job, kid." He said and patted the boy on the shoulder.

No response. 

Tony lifted his head trying to assess the boy. He couldn't see most of his face, his arm and rifle being in the way.

"Hey, kid-"

"I've never taken a human life before-" he suddenly said, cutting Tony off.

"I've never- … never- taken a human- life-" His voice broke at the end.

Tony moved closer to him and pulled the gun away. He then placed a hand on his head, trying to make the move as comforting as he was able to.

"Those soldiers weren't human, kid."

His voice sounded rough. Reminded him of his dad.

Tears streamed down the boy's face when he looked at Tony, making his heart drop just a little more south than its usual position. Incomprehension was clear in his wet and reddened brown eyes. The pouted blood bitten lips quivered when he tried speaking. No words came out though. Just a quiet sob. Tony had to look away. His stomach curled a bit in on itself guiltily. 

"Anyways… we should get out of here before anyone else comes."

He got up on his feet and waited for the boy to do the same. Tony gripped the jacket by the boy's neck after a while when nothing happened, yanking him up to his feet. Tony almost dragged him after himself, moving them towards the allied territory.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Peter-… Peter Parker, sir." His voice sounded unsure.

"How long have you been in the war?"

"12 weeks in the training camp, sir. This is my first-" He paused for a bit as if he had to steal his nerves off before continuing "my first actual day in the army…"

Tony stopped abruptly, Peter bumping into his back. If he'd just been drafted, how in the hell could he shoot with such talent? He turned around, eyeing the boy that looked much too young to be in a war. Tony noticed the difference in their heights when Peter lifted his head to look up at him in confusion at the sudden halt.

"This is your first fight?"

His voice did nothing to hide the scepticism towards the statement. The boy chewed at his bottom lip, diverting his eyes to the ground as if it was dangerous to look directly at Tony. He then nodded.  Tony looked at him for a moment longer, before turning around to continue walking. Where had he learned to shoot like that? That kind of talent wasn't something one could just acquire by chance or out of thin air.

They made it down to the outpost. Tony dropped Peter off at the Samaritans tent, despite his protests against it. 'Really, sir, it's not as bad as it might look,' he'd said. 'The last thing I want is to be a bother. Others probably need it a lot more than I do.' Tony had left no room for discussion, making sure the medic wouldn't let Peter go without having his injuries attended to, before leaving the first aid tent himself. He should have gotten his own hand checked out, but more than anything, he wanted a nice washdown before doing anything else. 

The water in his bowl had already turned grey with swirls of red after only a few dips of the washing cloth before Tony was disturbed by a voice behind him. It was Major Briggs.

"I see you made it back in one piece, huh." 

Major Briggs always made Tony's jaw clench inexplicably, but he forced himself to put on a smile when he turned around to face him.

"One Piece, Major." He said, not able to - not wanting to hide the sharp tone underneath his voice.

"The others weren't as lucky as I was." Briggs did his best at hiding his embarrassment over his gross militant incompetence, with a greasy smile. He let the pointed remark hang in the air, licking his lips before changing the subject.

"I've been tasked with giving you a mission. The upper commands trust you a great deal, Stark, and you're the only one here who speaks the Italian language." Tony didn't answer, so Briggs continued.

"It's Colonel Davis. We've gotten word that he's been captured by the Germans, with a handful of our other men. And they want you to find him and bring him back. His high position makes him a tool to get important information about the higher-ups’ plans. We can't let that happen."

Tony couldn't keep quiet anymore. 

"So what, you'll risk the lives of perfectly healthy soldiers for the life of one? One life that at that would break down in a matter of seconds into a bit of torture? That's absurd." He almost spat the words at Major Briggs. 

"It's the orders that have been given, Sargent Stark, and I expect you to follow them obediently." His voice was a low snarl.

"Is that understood?" He said slightly louder when Tony didn't answer him.

"Yes… Sir." 

Tony could hear his own disgust seethe through his teeth.

"Good. I'll gather a team for you of four men, consisting of Hogan, Williams, Roberts, and Johnson." 

Tony was quickly pulled out of the anger.

"Roberts is dead, sir." Briggs stopped in his tracks towards the exit of the tent.

"Damnit," 

He muttered under his breath. 

"He was the best marksman in our section."

"Take Jacobs, then." 

Nope, Tony thought. He'll be the death of the team.

"With all due respect, sir, but Jacobs is a terrible marksman. Clumsy and dimwitted. I'll need someone good."

Briggs breathed out in irritation. "Who do you want, then?"

Tony considered for a second. 

"Give me Parker. He's new, but the kid got skills."

"As you want." Briggs disappeared with that.

Tony slumped down on a chair situated beside his table. The kid was hardly cut out for this job, but he doubted that he would find anyone nearly as talented.


	3. Red Sky At Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is told to report to Sargent Stark.

Peter had been transferred to a different squad. He hadn’t been told much, other than where he had to go, and who his new Sergeant was to be. His brain that still was in a fog had had a hard time catching up so that he could ask the necessary questions at the time he’d gotten the information. Which was becoming a real problem now that he was trying to locate block B, and whoever he was to report to.

It took a fair amount of time for Peter find block B and even when he did, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d gotten it right. Somebody halfheartedly directed him towards a tent with three men sitting in front of it. He stopped about a meter from them, hesitation in his movements. He was just about to ask them where he could find this Sargent Stark before one of them came him in advance.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Scepticism towards the scrawny-looking unknown boy in front of him was clear in his voice, and Peter had no idea of what to say. He didn't even know himself who he was supposed to be. A voice from behind him came to his rescue before he could even try and press an explanation out.

"This is Private Parker. Our new marksman."

The voice was a familiar voice, and Peter turned around to meet the owner of it. It was the man from earlier on the battlefield. Except this version was much cleaner.

With the absence of dirt and clean-cut goat tee, Peter could really see how handsome the man in reality was. The brown eyes had a few flattering wrinkles around them, and sprinkles of grey adorned the otherwise dark-brown hair. The dark eyes that looked at Peter were alone enough to make him feel a blush creeping upon his cheeks.

"M-marksman?"

Great. Peter had now besides a weird blotchy blush, developed a stammer as well. He hoped that both would go unnoticed by the man, but he certainly wouldn't be surprised if he learned the opposite to be true.

"Yes, Parker. You're our new marksman." His eyes kept themselves at Peter - almost as if amused by his insecurity - even as he began motioning towards the men at the tables.

"This is Hogan, our automatic rifleman," Peter glanced at the man at the end of the gesture, both wanting an out of the intensity of the eyes but also feeling a loss at having to divert attention. Hogan was of a stocky build, probably because of both fat and muscles, the face rounded and with a flat expression. He looked to be around the ‘40s, or perhaps even nearing his 50's.

"That's Williams, our regular rifleman," Williams looked to be in his late 20's, dark hair and tan skin. He stared almost aggressively at Peter, making him wonder if he'd done anything wrong.

"And Johnson, our grenadier." He finished, pointing towards a guy, with a strong jawline, decked with stubs. Johnson smiled at Peter, but the smile didn't really reach his eyes.

"And you, sir, are?" Peter said turning his head back towards the man whose eyes didn't appear to have strayed much from Peter.

"I'm Tony Stark. Sargent Stark, if you will." A chuckle laid underneath his voice, perhaps humoured by Peter's ignorance, but it didn't bother him even if that was the reason.

"Now that we're all gathered, pack up. We leave in an hour."

-

Peter hadn't been told much about the mission. He tried asking Williams who he'd walked the closest to since they'd began their journey. They moved through a field that was illuminated by the sun's warmth that now and again was interrupted by fleeting clouds. Sargent Stark was walking in the front.

"I don't know shit, squirt." Was Williams' answer. "I just follow orders."

Boisterous laughter sounded from Johnson. "Can you follow orders?"

Williams' eyes darted from Peter over Johnson. "Better than you can."

His words sounded like venom, though they didn't seem to do much at wavering Johnson's cheeky attitude. His grin only widened.

Hogan nudged Peter with an elbow. "Just ignore them. They are and have always been a real pain in the ass."

Fragmented bits of what seemed to become a longer fight, could be heard from behind Peter. It was almost impossible not to, even as Hogan spoke again.

"Our team has been turned into a small rescue-mission." Hogan's voice made Peter turn towards him yet again.

"Who are we going to rescue?" Peter could still hear the other two's arguing, but it seemed to fall a bit in the background.

Hogan shrugged.

"Dunno. Probably someone important. The military doesn't organize rescue missions for regular soldiers." His voice sounded with underlying scorn. Peter frowned. What was he doing here, if it was an important mission?

Williams came up on the side of Peter after a while of bickering with Johnson, as if trying to escape. 

"What the hell is a rookie such as _you_ doing here?" His voice was brassy obviously trying to get a rise out of Peter, but Peter chose to ignore the undertone and shrugged.

"Apparently to be your marksman…" He looked at the back of Sargent Stark, but he seemed to be out of hearing range or he just didn't care much about the soldiers' yapping.

"You don't look like much… You sure you can even lift the sniper all the way up to your shoulder?" The rude undertones in his voice were more than just undertones now, and Peter could feel how his cheeks flared up with anger at the unmotivated attack.

"I’m not saying this to be mean or anything. I’m just saying that I’m not going to die just because a rookie, such as you, isn’t able to neither watch my back nor lift a rifle." A rough hand grabbed Peter by the arm and roughly rolled his sleeve up. Williams’ eyebrows drew up in fake pity. "I mean... this doesn’t look very promising. Wouldn’t you agree, Johnson?" Johnson chewed a bit on his chewing tobacco while looking as though he was in deep thought. Then he spit before he answered. "You might be right, Williams. Don’t worry, boy, nothing personal or anything, I’m just doubting whether you’ll be able to even lift the damn thing."

Peter yanked his arm out of the other's grip, inhaling in order to tell him off when Hogan came him in advance.

“I would say that’s enough teasing the new one for now. Wouldn’t you agree?” He didn’t sound especially invested in stopping their stream of mockery, so Peter assumed that it was probably just annoying to him.

Johnson shrugged, a hand coming up to roughly ruffle Peter’s curls. “Ah, the newbie knows that it all in good fun. You know that we mean no harm, right, boy” 

Peter glared at him, trying to work up the nerve to tell the man twice his size off, but was interrupted before he succeeded.

"Squad, this isn’t an old ladies’ knitting club. So quit that yapping!" He didn't even look at them as he said it, but he sounded annoyed.

"And keep up!"

Williams' smile faltered as he forced his attention away from Peter. He walked up joining with the others. Peter dragged his sleeve down, the clothing hiding red marks from Williams' grip, sulking. Why was he scolded too? He wasn't the one who'd started it. Peter walked behind the others as they made their way through a field. He could hear Johnson speaking lowly with Sgt. Stark.

"Were you together with Roberts on the battlefield?" Peter could barely make out the words, his voice being low. The moment stretched on for a bit before Stark answered. Peter couldn't hear it when he did. But the atmosphere in the little squad suddenly turned into something solemn. Peter didn't dare to utter any of the questions his brain churned over, and the silence went on for a long time as the small group made their way through the fields.

Sgt. Stark suddenly made a sign for them to halt, after they'd made their way through a thicket, no more than twenty meters from the "main" road. Peter looked around at their surroundings, confused. The road was mostly hidden by some trees, but he couldn't see anything alarming by the forest. Then he started being able to hear it too.

A low rumbling sound came from somewhere down the road.

"Get down!" Yelled Sgt. Stark.

The others threw themselves to the ground, not caring whether they hurt themselves when meeting the ground or not. Peter did the same as them. The rumbling sound was coming closer, and he no longer had any doubt in his mind of what it was. The metal monstrosity creeped out from behind the trees, and Peter heard his heart pounding in his ears. Then it was as if his heart skipped a beat, as the monstrous machinery was revealed. It didn’t look like any tank Peter had seen back in Britain. This tank looked frighteningly huge. Overgrown. It was, in fact, so huge that he had no trouble being able to see it, despite the fact that most of his visual field was being taken up by the tall barley that surrounded them in the field.

"It's German," said Williams lowly to Stark. He nodded knowingly in response and looked around at the others, his eyes catching Peter's.

"We're not going to do anything." He whispered.

Johnson frowned. His hand was gripping at his firearm.

"It's headed towards our ally lines." His voice expressed his confusion and urgency perfectly.

"As I _said_ -" Stark's eyes shifted from Peter's to Johnson's, a hard exterior shifting over them, "- we'll do nothing that could jeopardize our mission."

Johnson quickly understood not to challenge him, and he reluctantly retracted his hand from the gun. But his face didn't disguise his discontent. They continued hiding, as the low growling of the tank had become distant, and even after it had disappeared completely. Sgt. Stark finally got up on his feet, the others following his cue. Johnson stood facing Stark when he'd gotten his body up in a vertical position. He stood much closer than people normally do with those in higher positions, overstepping the boundary of his personal space by a great deal.

He didn't say anything. Well, except for what contempt his eyes expressed.

Tony met them for a second before beginning to move again, without voicing any explanation or defence.

-

When the darkness of the night started edging in on them, Peter began feeling the bite of the dry wind on his skin. He walked a few steps behind Stark but noticed him glancing back at Peter as if he could hear the clattering of his teeth.

"Let's find a place to settle for the night." He said, to the entire squad, confirming Peter's suspicions.

They kept walking until they found an adequate place to camp out for the night in the woods. The designated space was small but the trees surrounding the barren ground provided the tired soldiers with safety from being spotted by Axis soldiers.

The others began setting up the camp, while Peter was tasked with finding wood together with Hogan.

Peter had by accident wandered off from Hogan, being in an entirely different world. He was now standing pitiably staring at a stick in his hand. 

He jumped, by the sudden sound of Sgt. Stark's hoarse voice behind him, the stick immediately being dropped from his hand.

"That twig is too small for the bonfire, kid." Peter turned around with a pounding heart, meeting the older's dark eyes through the dusky light of the woods.

He stood leaning against a tree, his lips forming half a smile.

"I-I know, Sir... Sorry." He said, suddenly feeling insecure.

Stark frowned slightly, moving a bit away from the tree towards Peter, but stopped himself before he made it very far.

"Did I frighten you?" The tone of his voice sounded less playful now.

Peter shook his head. “It isn’t your fault, sir. I’ve just been real jumpy lately.”

“Ah, tell me about it. It’s the soldiers’ syndrome we all suffer from. You’re baptism of fire also was one of the tougher ones, I’ll admit.”

Images of lifeless bodies falling rushed through Peter’s mind and along with a numbing shiver through his body. He suddenly felt further away from reality and he just barely heard the wooden sticks fall from his arms to hit the ground.

Peter only became aware that his eyes had been closed, when he opened them, to see Tony’s worried expression. The older man’s hands were on his shoulders and Peter could feel the warmth of them, even through his jacket. It seemed to ground him.

“Are you okay, kid?” Asked Tony.

Peter blinked a few times. What had happened?

“Yeah, I’m fine.. I don’t know what happened.” Tony’s examining eyes were on him and Peter didn’t know what to do or say. He felt a warmth threaten to creep up in his cheeks.

“I must be tired or something.”

Tony didn’t let go immediately. It was only when Peter gave him a shy smile that he relented. He ruffled Peter’s curls a bit, before bending down to pick the wood that Peter had dropped. 

"I actually just came to tell you that we've gotten the campfire going and that you can stop looking for wood..." The corner of his mouth quirked up into a small smile. “Unless you want to, that is of course." The lightheartedness was back in his voice again.

Peter smiled at him. He felt comfortable being with Tony, even if he also became more self-conscious when being under the scrutiny of his eyes. Peter shuddered and he didn’t know if that was from the cold. 

"No- yeah... It would be nice to get warmed up a bit, actually." He rubbed his hands together, lifted them up to his lips, and breathed into them trying to get some warmth and blood flowing through his fingers. He could see that Tony kept on looking at him, and felt his eyes follow the motion. Then he finally nodded his head in a direction, as if telling Peter to follow him back to the others.

“Don’t mind the others’ rash treatment towards you. They’re just mourning the death of our old sniper, Roberts.”

Peter was walking behind Tony and couldn’t see his face, but he felt the comfort of the words regardless.

”I’ll keep that in mind, thank you, sir.”

-

"So, kiddo-" said Johnson while taking a mouthful of the dog-food-smelling 'Bully Beef' out of his can, before continuing talking.

"Tell us about the girls from your hometown." His mouth was full, but that didn't seem to stop him from getting a little intel on their new recruit. He seemed hungry. And that was not only after food but also after some new vulgar stories.

Peter considered for a second, forcing a bite of the appalling dogfood-like meat inside his mouth. The taste of salt and what sweat would taste like hit his tasting buds but his growling stomach had him swallowing it, though with great difficulty. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

"There isn't much to tell, I guess."

"Come on, Parker! There must be someone! Tell us about her! I especially want to hear it if she has huge knockers." He held his hands up in front of his chest, punctuating what size he considered huge.

Peter felt himself redden a bit and glanced over at Tony, whose eyes appeared to have been on him the entire time. Tony smiled sincerely at him when noticing, and motioned his spoon in Peter's direction as if trying to spur him on. Peter quickly retreated his eyes from Tony back over to Johnson, trying to ignore the weird warmth that seemed to whelm up in his stomach.

"No, really... There's no one. Michelle is the only girl my age in my hometown, and she's just a friend." Peter felt his stomach drop a little at the mention of Michelle. He missed her so much. Missed how they'd play in the hayloft back when they were kids, jumping down from the high beams only to land softly in a cushion of hay. Oh, how they'd played like that, hiding from their obligations on the farm. Hiding from uncle Ben. Peter had, of course, felt remorseful at his actions after Ben's death, and that had put an end to the carefree summers of a careless Peter.

"Mmh..." Johnson didn't sound especially pleased with that answer. "And you two never did anything that God forbids before binding the sacred ties of marriage?" Peter nearly choked on his food at that. Johnson was quick to slap his back when a coughing fit came over him.

"There, there, boy!" He said laughing boisterously. "It's tough when the ladies play hard to get! I should know."

"Let me tell you a story about a girl I once knew." Peter tried waving his hand through the coughing as if trying to say that, that wasn't necessary. But Johnson ignored it and started telling a very long, very detailed story anyways, much to Peter's dismay. Hogan skewed at Peter, wincing dramatically at the almost grotesquely pornographic imagery Johnson managed to paint.

"God, Johnson, you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Johnson laughed. "Hah! Do you think that's bad? Then I should tell you about what I did to that fine little thing back in Sicilia. You know the broad with canned goods."

Williams' eyes widened. "Wha-what- you mean you and Sofia-" He couldn't get himself to get the rest of the words out.

Johnson's grin widened when he became aware of the reason behind Williams' mortified look.

"Ah!" He exclaimed, "not only are we brothers, but we're also Belly Cousins." With his mouth still chewing, he punched Williams' arm. "I'm sorry she wasn't a virgin when you got to her, brother, but I can promise you that I don't have any Cupid's Itch. My bayonet is as clean as they come."

Williams who had hidden his face behind his hands groaned deflated. "Half brothers." Johnson got up to roam through his backpack.

"This calls for a drink don't ya' think?" He held up a jar of rum for the others to see as if he'd just magically pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

He started chucking from it passing it on to Williams, who gratefully accepted it before passing it on to Hogan. Hogan passed the jar on to Tony, switching it for the canned delight of dogfood. He poked at it a few times. "I miss my wife," he said, as he resignedly took a spoonful into his mouth.

Tony chuckled as he sipped the liquid. "I bet you do." He took yet another sip, before reaching it over the flames of the bonfire to Peter. Peter had to stand up a little bit in order to reach it. He looked at it for a bit when he sat back down, contemplating whether to drink or not.

"Ever drink before, kid?"

He looked up at Tony shaking his head. Another chuckle escaped Tony's throat.

"Well, drink up. If you're old enough to be at war, you should be old enough to drink."

Peter lifted the jar up to his lips, taking in a huge gulp. Tony's eyes widened.

"Easy, kid." He tried, but it was too late. Peter was already coughing and spluttering, eyes red and throat burning. A roar of laughter erupted around the bonfire and Peter was again slapped on the back by Johnson who was nearly crying. He probably thought that the slapping helped, like the cracked egg he was. Peter wasn't mad though. He laughed in-between the coughs too, despite finding it all a bit embarrassing. Peter's coughing subsided a bit after a little while as did the laughter around the bonfire.

"What about you, Sarge, and that blonde one from Sicilia?" Asked Williams as he looked at Tony.

Tony shrugged, a playful smile sliding onto his face. 

"What do you think happened, Williams?"

Johnson's grin had slipped upon his face again.

"I know what happened. Well, I heard what happened. We all did." He laughed. 

"There you have it. No reason going into details then."

"You're no fun, Sarge." Croaked Williams making Tony laugh.

Peter wouldn’t be surprised if Tony had had a lot of partners. He was an attractive man, with good manners so it wasn’t weird at all. The only thing Peter found weird, was the feeling he had when thinking about it. It was an undefinable feeling.

They all sat around the fire for a little while longer before they agreed on turning in for the night. Peter welcomed the idea since his eyelids grew heavier and heavier as the alcohol fused with his blood. Hogan didn't mind being the one watching out for any dangers that might be lurking in the dark.

-

It didn't feel like much time had passed when Peter was shaken awake.

"Wake up, kid."

It was Tony's voice that sounded lowly with a slight panic underneath. His hands were gripping roughly at the collar of Peter's jacket. Peter blinked confusedly trying to get a hand on the situation.

"Wh-what?" Was the only thing he managed to blob out, the sleep much too heavy on his mind for anything else.

He could only see the silhouette of Tony through the dawning light. The silhouette held a hand up to its lips indicating for Peter to stay silent. Peter did as he was told, though his drowsy mind wanted anything else than to hold again with the questions.

"Pack up. And do it quickly but silent, understand?" His voice was a low whisper. Peter felt how his heart started pounding faster, frightened of what was still unknown to him. He nodded and Tony let go of him. Peter now noticed how the others were packing up around him as well, none of them saying anything. The silence seemed strange.

Tony poured a little water on the bonfire that had nearly died by now just to be safe. And then they were ready to move into the night that was turning into morning.

Dogs barking paired with shouts that sounded German could be heard in the distance of the woods, and Peter's blood froze.


	4. Hesitance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The small team has a shootout with some German soldiers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation for that German bit can be found in the bottom notes if needed ;)  
> Hope you guys enjoy this chapter:)

Peter tried turning his head to see their perpetrators but all he could see was the dark shadows of trees. The group's walk had gradually sped up, and they were soon running through the woods, their panting breaths and boots kicking leaves the only sound that surrounded them except for the occasional dog barks. The barking seemed to become more aggressive as it gained in on them, and Peter could feel his movements becoming frantic and uncalculated.

In the distance, Peter could see the opening of the forest. It had been dyed a bloody orange by the morning sun, a colour that only became more intense as they ran out into the open fields. A small cottage with a matching farm was situated not far from the woods. 

“Run to the farm and take cover!” Yelled Sargeant Stark. 

They ran behind an abandoned farm vehicle that had been stopped close by the cottage. The metal of it was melted in some places, black soot covering most of it. Tony smashed one of the windows of the cottage with his rifle, clearing off the glass. He then pulled Peter over to the window and pushed him inside it, before following himself. He put his gun up on the window but turned towards Peter when Peter kept on just standing there looking on, breath heaving at his shoulders. 

“Get your goddamn rifle, kid, and come here.” His rough voice had Peter scrambling for his rifle. 

The window to Peter’s left was smashed now and in crawled Williams. His shuffling body landed with a dense sound on the wooden floorboards.

Shouts from Johnson could be heard outside. “They’re coming!” 

He and Hogan had placed themselves behind the vehicle.

“Ready your guns!” Yelled Tony back.

Peter placed his rifle on the windowsill, eye ready at the aim and finger tight on the trigger. He tried ignoring his heart that was beating viciously in his chest. The perpetrators were now visible to Peter through his aim, as they came running out of the woods. Elleven soldiers with two dogs in front of them. The dogs were barking enthusiastically, froth slinging from their snouts. Suddenly, a shot could be heard and one of the dogs fell with a loud howl. Peter could feel his hairs standing on end. 

“Sie sind da!” screamed one of the Germans, pointing towards the cottage. 

A deafening sound of a gun going off to Peter’s right startled him. In his aim, he saw one of the soldiers falling to the ground. 

“Hans!” Yelled the soldier next to him, trying to catch his falling, lifeless body. 

The others started running towards the cottage leaving the soldier struggling with the corpse of his buddy behind. They hid behind a barn situated across the square from the cottage. The lone soldier was still struggling with ‘Hans’ corpse when the fight suddenly came to an abrupt end not long after. The shots from an automatic rifle tore through his body punching him to the ground. The German soldiers started shooting now. The sounds of bullets pinging off of the vehicle and hitting the bricks of the cottage sounded strange, almost foreign to Peter. Tony threw himself to the floor, a rough hand dragging Peter down with him. Dust and small rocks rained down on them, and Peter had to close his eyes. His face was pressed into Tony’s chest and he could even feel the warmth of his body through their layers of clothing. Peter basked himself in that shortlived feeling of safety before he again was pushed aside, Tony positioning himself by the window again. The gun recoiled with every shot he took. 

“Are you hit?” He yelled his question at Peter.

“N-no, sir.”

“Good, then get up and start _firing_ that rifle!”

Peter did as told, but felt it impossible to fire when he had his aim on one of the opposing soldiers. Images of the men he’d executed back on the battlefield kept flashing before his eyes. He thankfully watched on as the soldier slumped down to the ground as he was hit by one of the others. 

A grenade was thrown towards the barn, dissolving it into fire and smoke. Then silence fell. Peter didn’t hear anything other than his heart. He couldn’t see anything else than the bits and pieces of what once had been whole men, laying on the ground. The cold metal of his aim had become warm, by the pressure of his skin, and it was as if he was pushing the aim harder in on his eye still. A soldier came out from behind the barn, wobbling with an automatic rifle in his arms. He started firing like mad, pointing his gun in all directions. Through the aim, Peter could see his pained and scared facial expression from behind the soot that covered his face. Peter’s heart wasn’t pounding in his chest any longer, but in his throat instead. A scream of pain sounded from outside and the German was taken down not even moments after. Peter couldn’t hear who it was that had been hit, and he didn’t dare look. Tony got up now and jumped out the window. Williams glowered at Peter for a second before he jumped out his window as well. The moment stretched on for a little while before Tony’s voice sounded.

“Get out here, Parker.”

His voice was cold, but Peter did as he was told. Hogan was writhing on the ground gripping at his arm. Low, pained groans escaped his mouth. Johnson was in the process of treating his wound. 

“What was that?” Peter didn’t have the courage to look at Tony.

“I-I- … There’s- no excuse- Sir-” He managed to press out through his lips.

“You're _damn_ right, there's no excuse!” 

“Look at me, Parker!” Peter lifted his head, eyes hesitantly meeting with Tony’s. He walked towards Peter slowly, a hand coming up to meet with the collar of Peter’s jacket, backing him into the wall of the cottage. His voice was low when it sounded. 

“What the hell happened?” 

Peter’s throat was dry, and his eyes stung with the tears that threatened to fall. 

“I saw you. I know you had your aim on him. Why didn’t you _end_ him?”

“I-I’m sorry-” Peter tried but was interrupted by the hand on his collar, pushing him into the wall a bit more roughly. 

He was about to open his mouth to say something when Williams’ voice cut in on them. “We have one surviving Kraut, sir!” He yelled over from the barn. Tony didn’t look away from Peter. His dark eyes seemed as though they contemplated something. 

“Bring him over here!” He yelled back after a moment of consideration. 

The German was thrown down on the dirt a few meters from Peter and Tony, and Tony released his collar. He pulled a handgun out from his belt. 

“Give me your hand, kid.” He said lowly. Peter did and Tony put the gun in his hand, curling his finger around it. 

“Shoot him.” 

The order was simple but it was as if Peter was unable to understand it.

“Wh-what-” Stammered Peter.

“ _Shoot._ Him.” He said again, putting more pressure on each word. 

“B-but, sir-”

“Do as you’re told.” 

Peter took a step forward. It didn't feel like it was himself that moved his body. The man on the ground sobbed shakingly as he got himself on his knees. Peter lifted the gun up, pointing it at him.

“Bitte- bitte nicht- Ich habe Kinder- Ich habe eine Frau! Bitte-”

Peter didn't understand German, but he somehow still knew what the man was saying. He couldn't focus on anything other than his eyes. Those pleading eyes. Peter could feel how the tears now trickled down his cheeks, but he couldn't bring himself to care about how he was bawling in front of the others. He couldn't care about not being manly enough. He couldn't care about being childish. At this moment all that became distant and unimportant. His breathing was becoming more and more uneven. This was useless. He wouldn't be able to shoot the man. He lowered the gun and looked at Tony. 

“Please, sir- I can't-” Tony's facial expression became a tad softer for a fleeting moment when meeting with Peter's eyes. But then his jaw started clenching up. He walked over to Peter, standing behind him so that Peter was pressed against him with his back and gripped his hand and gun with his own hand.

“It's for your own good, kid.” 

Peter started struggling against the warm embrace when he understood, trying to wring himself out of it but Tony's hold on him was too strong. His other hand came up to hold around Peter's torso, incapacitating the extent of his movements, hugging him into Tony tightly. 

“Shhh.” He whispered in his ear, as one might do with a wild or frightened horse. Then Tony's finger pushed down on Peter's, and the gun went off. 

The German slumped down to the ground, lifelessly. Peter could hardly breathe for a few moments, his entire body feeling numb. He felt as though his entire world was shaking, but then it occurred to him that it was himself that was shaking. Tony's hand, the one that held his hand and the gun, released him so that the firearm dropped to the ground. Peter would surely by now had fallen to the ground as well, his legs much too wobbly to hold up his weight, if it hadn't been for Tony, that was still holding him up. 

“Give us a moment.” Said Tony, “I’ll take the kid inside the cottage for a second before we move on.” 

The others said something in answer, but Peter seemed to neither care or comprehend it. 

  
  
  


Peter was placed on a chair in the little kitchen inside the cottage. Tony had put his jacket around Peter's shoulder as if it were a blanket. He'd gone outside for a moment without saying anything to Peter leaving him in the kitchen. Peter hadn't noticed though. 

“I noticed that they have a bunch of chickens outback,” Tony said upon his return. 

“And amazingly enough, live chickens.”

He got a fire started in the stove, before beginning to ransack the cupboards for a pan. Peter didn't answer but it didn't really seem as though Tony expected him to. Peter had finally stopped crying, but he couldn't really seem to shake himself out of the state he was in. Pictures of the German both before and after he'd put a bullet in him kept flashing before him. 

“I noticed that you didn't eat much last evening. Not that I blame you or anything. Who's able to eat that disgusting excuse of meat?” He said wrinkling his nose.

The plate of eggs that were placed in front of Peter now, had him looking up at Tony.

“Sir, what is this?” 

“Eggs.” Answered Tony simply as he placed himself on a chair opposite of Peter. 

Peter shook his head as he took the fork in his hand. That wasn't what he'd meant. What the hell kind of situation was this? He took in a mouthful of the eggs. It tasted amazing. His stomach growled now and he started shovelling the eggs inside his mouth. They both sat in silence opposite each other and ate the eggs. It was the best food they’d gotten for a long time now. Peter didn’t even dare think how long it had been since Tony had gotten a real meal. He didn’t want to think of how long it’d been since the whole team last had a real meal. And here he was, eating delicious eggs only three days into a war that had been going on for four years. He didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t even shoot anyone without breaking down like a weak child. And now Hogan was paying the price for his hesitance.

Tears suddenly started stinging in his eyes again, the eggs becoming a blurry yellow and white mess. He tried blinking the tears away. He didn't want to cry again. It seemed like it was the only thing he was capable of these days. He bit his quivering lip to try and stop the tears from falling, but it seemed to be of no use. A low whimper even escaped his lips despite all his efforts and he harpooned some more egg on his fork and shoved it inside his mouth aggressively trying to force himself not to cry. Suddenly a warm hand on his forearm interrupted the fight he was having with himself. He looked up at Tony. 

“Kid, it’s okay.” He mumbled lowly, a sort of sad or guilty smile on his lips. Peter shook his head. 

“It’s not.” 

“What do you mean?” Tony frowned. Peter bit his lips again. He was afraid the tears would start pouring out through the little dam he so desperately was trying to hold if he opened his mouth to say anything. Tony squeezed his arm for a second exhaling, before retracting his hand.

“Next time you won’t hesitate… I hope.” He said as he stood up, taking their empty plates over to the sink. Peter looked down on the wooden table. He didn’t know what to say. Had all this been punishment? That would be the meanest most horrible punishment he’d ever received. But one he deserved. 

Peter shrugged Tony’s jacket off his shoulders. He stood up reaching it over to Tony. But he didn’t let go of it when Tony had turned and taken hold of it. He let his eyes hook onto the other’s, leaving his shyness behind in some other place inside himself.

“Was this my punishment, sir?” Tony’s eyes widened momentarily. 

“No, kid.” He lifted his other hand up to the side of Peter’s neck. It was warm and big, and Peter thought that he would have no issues being able to curl it around Peter’s throat and squeeze if he so desired to. 

“It wasn’t a punishment.” 

Peter must have looked puzzled because Tony elaborated after a moment of silence. 

“I won’t _dare_ to think what would happen to you if you don’t learn to shoot first. You got off cheap this time but there probably _won’t_ be a next time.” He let his hand fall from Peter’s neck and took the jacket when Peter finally let go of it. He began putting his arm through one of the sleeves as he walked towards the front door of the cottage.

“Next time, don’t think. Just shoot. Always remember that it’s either _you_ or them.” Said Tony before he walked out. 

Peter stood for a moment before following after Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> “Bitte- bitte nicht- Ich habe Kinder- Ich habe eine Frau! Bitte-”  
> (Please- please don't- I have children- I have a wife! Please-)
> 
> Damn, Gotta love how no sides during the war had a good time...


	5. We Are United, By Drifting Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They find a town and Johnson's ugly side is beginning to be revealed.  
> Peter can't stop thinking about what happened back at the farm, and about Sargeant Stark. He just can't seem to figure out why.  
> Tony begins noticing how Peter looks at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations in the bottom note! Otherwise I hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)

They’d begun moving deeper into the enemy’s territory. The wariness of the five soldiers rose for every kilometer they advanced further into the area. This daunting atmosphere was never addressed by any of them, but Peter felt it between them as a stick poking and probing at them. The unnerving air, had Peter imagining that a beast with exposed fangs hid behind every corner they turned. Not a single one of them had spoken about the incident. Peter didn't know if that made it easier or if it just had his blunder feel that much more like a taboo. He was nothing more than dead weight on the team. He’d let Tony down and he was beginning to think of how thrilling it would be if he didn’t turn out to be the reason they were all killed. He would give anything to forget the look of disapproval he'd received from Tony paired with the pained sounds that had sounded from Hogan. But it seemed that his brain wouldn't allow him to do just that. The guilt had taken, what he feared to be a permanent residence in his gut. It gnawed persistently, like a grim reminder of what he'd failed to do. He skewed towards Hogan. Hogan hadn’t seemed to blame Peter much for what happened. If that was true, Peter thought him to be the only one, and that included himself. It would be a lot easier if Hogan would just hate him. Scorn at him. Punch him. Force Tony to take him off the team. Leave him out here alone to fend for himself against the fascists. But Hogan never did any of it. And that only made Peter’s remorse grow that much more.  Hogan turned his head towards Peter when he noticed his eyes on him. 

“You okay, kid?” 

His voice that sounded almost sympathetic, had a lump appear in Peter’s throat. Peter should be the one asking him that. Not the other way around. He nodded silently, averting his eyes to the ground. His mouth felt dry, but he had to swallow some nearly non-existent spit a few times to try and force the lump down into his stomach. It didn’t help. 

Peter could feel another pair of eyes on him. Something in his gut told him that it was Tony's, so he kept his eyes glued to the ground before him. He didn’t want to look up and meet what could only be an accusatory look from the older man.

  
  


\---

  
  


They'd been on the move for days. Camping out at night, only to resume their journey at the first light of the budding day. Weariness was etched into each of their faces like bullet holes. Though, Hogan was the one who looked the worst out of all of them. His face had paled considerably, small beads of sweat painted his forehead. Peter couldn't help the way his stomach turned every time he looked at him. But the man bore with the pain and fatigue as if it was nothing, continuing with the preparations of the continuation of their journey. Peter was standing a few meters away from the camp. Watching on as the others each did their thing. 

Johnson was boasting about how he missed the sweet embrace of a woman, and that they shouldn't get too shocked if he suddenly jumped Hogan, being much too desperate. Peter knew that he was staring at the stocky short man, who was laughing despite being a little bit disturbed. Peter couldn't help how his eyes tentatively followed Hogan. It was so painfully obvious that Hogan’s condition was worsening. And Peter knew that it was his fault. He felt a pair of warm hands folding around his shoulders. The voice that matched the warmth of the hands sounded from behind him, too close to his ear. 

“Don't worry, kid. I’ve seen Hogan looking much worse than this.” Peter felt how the voice had goosebumps creeping over his skin, and he almost shuddered. Tony continued speaking.

“He pulled through back then, so I don’t doubt that he’ll also do that this time around.” Peter turned his head to meet with Tony's eyes. 

Those eyes made a mess of his emotions. Guilt was the only thing he'd felt in those moments before. But a wide range of emotions that Peter hadn't felt before meeting Tony, nor was able to recognize, emerged now. It was as if electricity was flowing from the palms of Tony's hands into Peter, where it settled down deep in his stomach. As if someone had hit him in the head with a bat, but that he instead of the pain, felt a disorienting, yellow and orange dyed high. 

“I hope you're right, sir,” Peter spoke his answer through the strange but pleasant fog, hoping his words made sense. Whatever this feeling was, Peter didn’t deserve it.

Tony’s fingers’ squeezed Peter before releasing him, and Peter felt how the warmth too quickly dissolved.

“Kid, I know I am.”

Peter wasn't exactly convinced, but he nodded nonetheless before forcing himself to return his attention to help pack up the camp. But the feeling hung on deep in his stomach. 

They were soon on the move again before Peter knew it.

\----

A small town started appearing in the distance after a long while of walking. Peter felt his aching legs threaten to give away under him from sheer exhaustion when they stopped, but he forced them to continue keeping him in an upright position. He didn’t want to be more of a burden than he already was, but the almost constant moving forward wore him down. He wouldn't be surprised if he found that his feet were covered in blisters inside the leather boots.

Tony looked at the others before he spoke.

“We should find a different route around the town.” 

His statement got no answer. The men exchanged a few uneasy looks but none of them dared to utter the objections that lied heavily in the air between them. Tony’s displeasure with the men’s silence was obvious by the way his eyes hardened as the moment stretched out.

“If any of you have any grievances you would like to share with the rest of the class, I suggest you do it now.” 

The atmosphere had Peter feeling as though he had to hold his breath, in order to not disturb the silence that followed Tony's words. Johnson warily took a step forward after a while. 

“Permission to speak, sir?” The two men’s eyes met, and Tony nodded. Peter noticed now that he probably wasn’t the only one who felt he had to hold his breath. Hogan and Williams were also quite keen on keeping their eyes on the ground.

“Permission granted.”

“I think it would be better if we head towards the town. We need to stock up on our inventory, and who knows perhaps we'll find that the partisans have taken control of it?” His voice sounded challenging, but Tony let the tone go unnoticed, even though Peter was sure he noticed it. Tony considered for a moment before speaking.

“You might be right. But it's too risky. We might find that it's filled with nazis, and then we’ll be up to our asses in them with no possibility of escaping.” 

Johnson didn't look at all satisfied with the counter-argument since he looked unable to come up with points that could measure with Tony's. Then it was as if his eyes narrowed, reminding Peter of a villainous lizard.

“Well, let's hear what the others think, shall we?” Tony that now seemed to become slightly agitated at the challenging tone nodded slowly before turning his attention to the others. Johnson spoke again.

“All those in favor.” He held his hand up, Williams’ hand following suit somewhat quickly. When none of the others followed, Johnson's eyes fell on Peter with a look of reproach. Peter had to pull himself together to not dug his head. He knew that Tony was right, and even more so than that, he trusted him a lot more than he did Johnson. Peter didn't know why, but the man always managed to make his hair stand on end, and that was not in a good way. Though he hadn't done anything directly that could explain this. 

Peter's eyes shifted from Johnson over to Tony who just silently stood there watching him. His face, though neutral had a sense of something else, something victorious. The corner of his lips told on him with the slight smirk he was unable to hide. A strange sensation bubbled up into Peter's stomach and he quickly had to look back over to Johnson. No matter how much that man gave him the creeps, Peter still found it easier to look at him, than Tony. 

He kept quiet when meeting the cold eyes of Johnson, doing his best to keep his face neutral. A muscle in Johnson's jaw clenched when he saw that Peter was in no way swayed by him.

“Yeah… of course. I dunno what I expected” He started mockingly. “Sargent Stark throws a little attention and consideration your way, and you just go with it.” His voice was low and threatening, inciting anger to flare up in Peter. 

“ _What?_ ” He answered disbelieving. 

“You heard me, boy. What? You wanna lick his balls too? How about mine? I wonder what I would have to do to have you bat your eyelashes at me the same way you do with him. Probably not much. Are you a _poofter_ or something?” Peter could feel his cheeks boiling with the warmth of anger the remarks had boiling up inside him, but his toes turned into these ten freezing ice cubes in a matter of seconds. He’d heard that word - poofter - a handful of times before, but he’d never heard it directed at himself.

“ _Watch it_ , Johnson.” Tony's voice sounded low and fuming, with a warning when it cut in. 

Johnson huffed with an almost childish contempt, but he chose not to keep at it. He probably felt that it would be much too unwise, so he moved his attention onto Hogan. Peter was still baffled at the words that had been spewed at him with such demean. He sneaked a glance at Tony after the focus had shifted away from Peter. Tony’s anger was obvious despite it being under great restraint, as he watched Johnson closely, to which Peter felt delighted.

“Hogan,” said Johnson, his voice attempting to intimidate, “you must be bright enough to see that I'm right.” Hogan held the eye contact, not showing any sign of agreeing. 

It was painfully clear that the attempted coercion was failing. As boisterous and dominating that Johnson usually was, he soon realized that it wasn't working now. He moved further towards Hogan, gripping him by the wounded arm, a groan escaping Hogan. Tony stepped forward.

“ _Enough_ , Johnson,” he growled with resentment.

Johnson who refused to bow to Tony this time around continued with his good-for-nothing banter as if he hadn’t heard him.

“See? You need medical attention, Hogan.”

His voice was playing at being sympathetic but his true intentions were badly hidden. Johnson dragged Hogan’s sleeve up and ripped the bandage off exposing the tormented, wretched skin. Peter breathed in sharply at the view. The wound was glowing an angry red, yellow oozing out from the hole that dug deep into the flesh of the arm.

“I’m the only one with any real medical knowledge, but any idiot can see what this wound will lead to if you don't get any real help.” 

Tony joined in now, walking up closer to get a better look. He shot a look Johnson's way, indicating at him to release Hogan’s arm. He did so, though reluctantly, and Tony inspected the wound closer. He looked up at his friend, the anger from before replaced by an apparent worry. 

“This is bad, Hogan. Very bad.”

Hogan shrugged, though without saying much. 

“Why didn't you tell me?” 

Hogan shrugged again. 

“Don’t know, sir.”

Tony released his arm turning in the direction of the town that laid silently in the distance. 

“We have to risk it.” He said after a while, turning towards the others yet again. His eyes shifted onto each of them only to end up locking on to Peter’s. “But we’ll do it with care and finesse.” 

  
  


\---

  
  


The silence of the town felt like a false veneer as they made it up closer. They’d walked closely together, always making sure that they were covered by trees in some way or another while each of them made an effort in keeping an eye out for any soldiers that might be lurking out of sight.

Tony had ordered the other’s to stay behind in the ruins of a building on the outskirts of the town, as he’d taken Peter with him to sneak deeper into the sorrowful rubble. He silently directed Peter to stay behind the rubble they currently were crouching behind ready with the sniper rifle, while he would venture deeper into the town. He relayed the information by motioning with his hands, a little surprised when Peter understood and nodded in agreement. Peter’s eyes grew distant as Tony was readying himself. He looked as though a million unkind thoughts roamed through his mind, and Tony felt an incessant need to quiet them down. His hand came up to meet with his nape, not unlike how it had done back at the farm. The eyes of Peter were on him instantly. 

“Don’t worry, kid,” he whispered lowly, “I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Peter looked as though the words hadn’t agreed with him, and Tony frowned. Peter lowered his eyes again, teeth worrying at the lower lip. 

“Sir, It's not my well-being I’m concerned about.”

Tony huffed in disbelief. “What then? You're worried about me, an old man?” 

His voice might’ve sounded a bit more doubting than he intended, because the uneasy eyes of Peter were on him again, though this time around, they seemed almost agitated. 

“Yes.” 

Sounded his answer pointedly. 

“Of course I am,” he gestured wildly with his hands, voice getting louder as he continued, unable to hide his worry. “I’m very scared of you getting gunned down, and it all being my fault because I accidentally hesitated yet again-” 

The ramble that seemed to have only just begun was cut off by Tony's hand that scrambled forth to cover his mouth, in worry of who might hear the distress of the younger. As much as the absence of mindfulness towards their surroundings stressed Tony a great deal out, it also seemed to remind him of how young the man before him in reality was. And he was yet again made aware of how wrong it was for Tony to have brought him along. To have placed him under this pressure. Though Peter was good at putting a brave face on for the most of the time, Tony knew that it was a false cover.

Their faces weren’t far from each other, as were their bodies, Tony essentially leaning in over Peter. Tony noticed how a warm blush crept over Peter’s cheeks, but since he didn’t know what to make of it, he chose not to think any further about it.

“Don't worry kid. You’ll do great. I know you will.”

He said it as convincingly as he could. The younger’s brown eyes shifted analyzing back and forth between Tony's, and Tony removed his hand from Peter's mouth. 

“How can you be so sure?”

Tony smiled at him. “Because you are amazingly skillful, and there’s something about you that just makes me trust you.”

Tony’s thumb, the one he had on the back of Peter’s neck, rubbed over Peter’s skin a few times before the hand retracted entirely. The redness of Peter’s cheeks darkened a few shades, and he heard a voice inside his head telling him that it was on account of Tony. Despite being stunned, Tony couldn’t help but find something pleasurably satisfying in that notion. He pulled a bit away from Peter and got up on his feet. What was going on? Tony felt dizzy thinking too much about irrelevant things. So he decided that nothing was going on. He probably just lacked the company of a nice lady.

He turned away from the kid about to continue their plan, saying “Chiao” to him, before beginning to cautiously move over to the next house that led onto one of the bigger roads of the town. A few scattered voices reached his ears from a few roads over and he froze. He moved inside one of the houses from the back, where a bomb had taken most of the walls. Black soot covered the occasionally white walls - a color Tony thought to have been the original color of the house. 

He was able to peek out from one of the remaining walls, into the street, trying to make out who the voices belonged to. He breathed out relieved. How anticlimactic - Johnson had been right. A partisan soldier stood speaking lowly with an old woman. He wouldn't be able to get a break from the big brute when they'd make their rendezvous. He turned around to wave at Peter, signaling that it was alright. He couldn’t see where the kid was, but he did not doubt that he was somewhere behind the rubble laying ready with his rifle. 

Tony slumped his gun onto his back and stepped out from his hide.

The woman screamed when she saw him, frightened by the strange man before her. The soldier beside her stepped in front of her scrambling for his gun and Tony hurriedly put his hands above his head in an attempt to seem less threatening.

“Mi scusi! Mi scusi, non sono una minaccia. Siamo alleati.”

The soldier lowered his gun, face lighting up upon further inspection of Tony’s uniform. 

“Ah, soldato inglese!” He said, patting the still frightened woman on the back. 

Tony nodded relieved. He knew it was obvious, but he still had to make sure that the partisans, in reality, had taken control of the entire town.

“Sì, sono inglese. Il partigiano ha preso il controllo di questa città?” 

The soldier grinned with pride as he answered.

“Sì, abbiamo preso il controllo di questa città qualche giorno fa.”

Tony nodded in acknowledgment of their victory. It couldn’t have been easy and the pride made sense since their victory was still new. The soldier pointed at something behind Tony, and he turned to the view of Peter coming his way. He looked as though he was in a continuous battle to keep the heavy bag and rifle upon his shoulders. Even his jacket was too big and it wanted to slide off him with every step he took. Tony wondered who it was that had dressed Peter up in these army clothes back in England because the person must have been blind.

“Amico tuo?” Asked the soldier. 

Tony had to hold back a peal of amused laughter at the sight as he answered, “Sì.” Relaying that yes, indeed that was his friend. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  


Tony had explained their situation to the soldier and he’d agreed to let Hogan get medical attention, though they too were low on supplies. He too had grimaced the sight of his wound, saying something along the lines with “Bad, very bad.” 

Tony stole a few glances at Peter to his side, who’s eyes shimmered with awe at the town they were being led through, despite it being bombed to shreds. Well, Tony supposed that the few intact parts of the town, they made their way through, had that special Italian feel to it. Anyone who’d never made it much further than London would have been just as taken by these new surroundings. The sun, that was starting to poke its head out from behind the heavy clouds, helped to accentuate the charm of the town.

Peter suddenly stopped in his tracks, when they made a turn that led them out into the town square. His hand came up to meet with the sleeve of Tony’s jacket, eyes widening in horror. Tony looked in the direction, where Peter had his eyes glued. Dismay quickly spread throughout his stomach.

A corpse hung lifelessly from one of the streetlamps, swaying softly in the breeze. The skin was mangled, face forever frozen in a pained expression. Around the neck, had a wooden sign been tied. It read; Questo fascista ha sparato a un partigiano, nonostante si fosse arreso.

“Come on, kid.” Said Tony sympathetically, softly dragging him along with the others. It was as if Peter couldn’t catch a break. 

“Was he German?” Asked Peter, as they turned down an alleyway.

“No. The sign said he was a fascist who had surrendered.” 

“Then why had they hanged him?” Sounded it again from Peter after a little while.

“Because he tried to shoot at the partisans despite having surrendered.” Answered Tony. He glanced to his side at Peter, who seemed as though he was thinking hard about it.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to attack  _ after _ you’ve surrendered?.”

Tony nodded. Weird indeed. Only a fool would do such a thing. Or one who was being pushed into doing something that dumb.

“You got me there, kid...”

  
  


\---

  
  
The partisan soldier parted ways with them when he’d shown them the house they could stay in while waiting for Hogan who was being treated. It was a small home with much of its’ previous owners’ belongings still inside it. Tony hadn’t asked the soldier what had happened to the owners since he had no issues imagining a wide variety of scenarios by himself.

Johnson and Williams had headed out to mingle with the townsfolk, despite their lack of sleep and rest, which was an almost pleasant surprise to Tony. It shouldn't have come that much of a surprise to Tony, though, since Johnson wouldn’t shut up about how he’d missed the embrace of a woman, in those six days they’d been traveling.

Tony found a small tub outback, as well as one that matched in the kitchen. He was in desperate need of doing some washing up, and he could only imagine that the same held for Peter. The boy joined him out it the kitchen, slumping down on one of the chairs by the dinner table. He seemingly didn't know what to do with himself. 

“Hey, kid.” Said Tony noting his presence as he pulled off his shirt and dumped it in the soapy water of the tub. He turned around to face Peter, noticing how his eyes quickly shifted away from Tony's bare skin. His cheeks reddened as though he’d been caught looking at something he wasn’t supposed to. Tony felt that same warm satisfaction from earlier well up in his stomach as well as an amused smile spread across his lips. 

“Do you want me to wash your shirt as well?” He asked the boy. 

“N-no… that won’t be necessary, sir.” Was his answer. He was busy looking anywhere but directly at Tony. Tony could feel how his smile turned into an amused grin but forced it under a cover of a courteous smile instead.

“It’s no trouble. I was just washing my own anyways. Besides you really should have it washed, so just give it here.” He said reaching his hand out towards the kid. Peter looked as though he debated it for a moment eyeing the hand and then the tub, before sighing defeatedly. He let his jacket slide over his shoulders and down, before pulling the shirt over his head. The chestnut curls fell from the fabric to messily frame his flushed face. Tony was hypnotized by the way the orange light of the afternoon-sun dyed both him and the air around Peter. His usual subtle milky complex was glowing softly, the delicate muscles framing his figure elegantly. Peter looked almost shy on account of being bare-chested and under the scrutiny of his sergeant’s eyes, making Tony feel almost guilty, as he continued eyeing the kid’s bare silhouette and shifted away. He took the shirt and threw it in the tub alongside his own, before placing his hands on the kitchen counter, his back facing Peter. What was he doing? He had to pull himself together.

“How do your feet feel? I noticed how you walk. It must be painful from the look of it.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Peter catching a glimpse of the smile that tugged at his lips, amused by the mental image of what he must have looked like, waddling away on their path. The smile must’ve been contagious because Tony could feel how one matching it tugged at his own. 

“Take off your boots, and let me have a look at them.” Peter did as told, probably having given up on trying to argue with Tony. Perhaps he was just too tired to try. He grimaced in agony as he tried pulling the left leather boot off, having to stop before the entire shoe had come off. He looked up at Tony in defeat, eyes slightly wet with pain. 

“Sir, I can’t get them off. It hurts too much.” Tony had to let out a low chuckle, being much too amused by the other’s distress, though he knew how painful it could be with blisters. It wasn’t something to be taken lightly. He pulled out a chair opposite Peter motioning for him to lift his foot. He gripped the muddled boot dragging it onto his lap, not caring much about the dirt that got on him. Peter looked on worriedly as Tony loosened the shoelaces a great deal, already anticipating the torturous pain that awaited him. Tony looked up at Peter before he began sliding the boot off, almost as if asking for permission.

The boy nodded, though he looked very concerned, and Tony started pulling it off slowly. A hand came up to stop Tony’s hand, but Tony didn’t relent. It would be better to just get it over with. 

When he let the boot fall to the floor, he looked up at Peter again, who seemed as though he might start crying anytime now.

“Now the other one.” Said Tony leaning back in his chair expectantly. Peter seemed like he wanted to do anything other than surrender his other foot as well to Tony, but did so despite it, and they proceeded as they'd done with the last foot. 

Tony wished he had some candy he could give the kid, when he’d finished pulling off the socks as well, in hopes of taking his mind off the pain for a second or two. He was almost pouting as Tony inspected the blisters. 

They were bad, he’d give the kid that. But luckily not anything lethal. He released Peter and got up to get the other tub, and filled it with water. 

“Nothing better than a good soak when one has as bad blisters as you do, kid.” He said when he placed the tub in front of Peter. 

“Oh, so they  _ are _ bad? I thought I was just weak.” A chuckle laid underneath his voice. 

“Yeah, you're not weak. I think you're on the road to becoming a real soldier now. Believe it or not both Hogan, I and the others had the  _ worst _ blisters for the longest time, when we first joined the army. And look at us now! The finest exemplars of the British army.” Said Tony with thick sarcasm as he put the tub down in front of Peter. He looked up meeting the view of the kid who was laughing heartily as a result of Tony's light-heartedly banter. Damn that laughter was contagious. Tony turned towards the mirror he'd placed on the kitchen table, with a crooked smile at having caused such delight. 

He had been lucky to find some shaving cream along with a razor of good quality. With a brush, he carted the cream around, before applying it to his face. The sound of water splashing followed by a loud gasp sounded from behind him disturbing him in what he was doing. Despite knowing that Peter's shuddering intake of air had been caused by the meeting between heated water and his sore skin, Tony couldn't help how it tightened low in his gut, as it would have with any woman's erotic gasps. Jesus, he needed to get laid.

“How come you're so good at speaking Italian?” Asked Peter after a while. 

Tony who had taken the razor blade between his fingertips, spoke before he put it entirely up to the skin of his cheek.

“My father was British, but my mother Italian. She came from a village not much unlike this one.”

The razor scraped carefully over his skin effectively removing a stripe of the unseemly beard he had begun growing off. It was a good razor. He was surprised when much unlike his previous experiences, nothing more was to be heard from the kid until he noticed his curious eyes in the mirror’s reflection. Tony locked his eyes onto Peter’s.

“What? You’ve never shaved before?”

“Do I look like someone who needs to shave?”

Tony chuckled. He supposed not. The boy was still bare on his chin, not even a shadow of a beard was to be seen. 

“Well, haven't you seen your dad shave then?”

“My dad died a long time ago, I don't remember him.”

Tony had to stop the razor in the middle of the motion, a sinking feeling appearing in his stomach. He didn't want to whirl any painful memories of Peter's around right now. The kid had enough pain to think about as of late.

“I'm sorry kid. I didn't know.”

“No, don't be sorry. You couldn't have known.” sounded his voice casually.

“I saw my uncle shave a few times when I was younger though. But I don't remember how he did.”

“Why only when you were younger?” said Tony, immediately closing his eyes. Why did he have to dig himself deeper into the ground, prodding at whatever painful memories these were to Peter?

Peter spoke without hesitating though.  “He kind of died a couple of years ago. It was very hard for my aunt. But we pulled through. She's a tough woman.” He paused for a bit before speaking again as if he was about to say something stupid. 

“Do you want to see a picture of us? I mean of my aunt, uncle and me?”

Tony turned around to face him, meeting with the look of Peter who had already decided against it on his behalf before he could even say anything himself. 

“Sorry, you probably don't. It was stupid of me-” he started but was quickly interrupted by Tony.

“No, I'd love  to.”

Peter analyzed him for a second before landing on the revelation that he indeed was truthful.  He pulled out a picture from the pocket of his jacket. 

“That's me, May, and uncle Ben. He was the one who taught me how to shoot, though I hated it. But he never got mad at me when I cried because one of us had hit a deer. He always tried to explain to me that it was the circle of life and that if  _ I _ hadn't shot it, it would have been eaten by a wolf or something. But I mean, how many wolves do you think live in Britain?”

Tony had to chuckle.  “Not many I guess.”

“Exactly.”

Tony felt a little sad on the kid’s behalf, growing up without a father figure. But then again, Tony supposed that a father figure was not always a blessing, when he thought of his own dad.

“You ready to learn how to shave?” He said pushing the thoughts of Howard Stark away.

Peter grinned. 

“Uh, yeah! Definitely Mr. Stark. I mean - uh - You don’t have to, sir.” Peter’s scrambling for words had a chuckle roll out from Tony’s throat.

“Nonsense, kid. I’m going to teach you how to shave.” Tony stood behind Peter's chair, reaching him the mirror.

“Now look closely.”  He said as he began to apply some shaving cream onto the kid’s smooth skin. There really wasn't any need for this, but he supposed it still served as a good lesson for him. He was after all on his way to becoming a proper adult, and proper adults shaved. At least they did if your name wasn't Johnson.

“For a clean shave, you always shave against the growth of the hair, not with them.” He said before placing the blade on the soft skin, dragging it across Peter's cheek, demonstrating. 

He suddenly felt a lot less steady-handed now, that it wasn't himself he would hurt if the blade slipped. The kid's skin was so much smoother than his own, and it felt like it would be an easy feat to cut and perhaps even scar it. But he steeled his hand as well as his courage, as he dragged it over a new area. Tony continued like that until he reached the last part that still was covered by a layer of white. He didn't even notice how focused he'd become, his face inching closer and closer to Peter's before he lifted the blade and looked in the mirror that the kid was still holding, to see if he had been watching. Peter was indeed still watching. 

He had almost stopped breathing, those big brown eyes glued onto Tony. His lips that normally were red had now become an even darker hue and they were slightly parted as if inviting Tony to just lean in and kiss them. He could feel how his heart beat harder, drumming inside his ears as he subconsciously leaned in further towards the kid, who looked on enthralled and anticipated. 

Suddenly a loud knock tore Tony out of the hypnotized state he'd been in, and he bolted back in his chair, razor blade clattering to the floor. 

“Someone's playing house?” Sounded it from Johnson by the door frame. Tony turned towards him not even surprised to meet the big grin of his ugly face. 

“Just teaching the kid how to shave.” Damn. Had he seen? No, more importantly, had Peter noticed what he was about to do? Had Tony noticed? Would he have kissed Peter if Johnson hadn't interrupted? 

“Oh _really_?” Was the snarky reply from Johnson.

Peter stood up from the chair, water splashing onto the floor as they broke with the water. He walked over to the tub that held their shirts on the kitchen counter fishing them up. Tony was about to start thinking that the kid was hurt, but then he turned around towards the two men. 

“Yeah. Thank you for teaching me, Sir. It was very instructive. I can't wait until I start growing being able to grow a beard.” He said, a youthful smile plastered on his lips. It seemed nearly genuine, but somehow it seemed off to Tony despite this. Peter wrung the shirts over the tub.

“I’ll go hang the shirts out to dry.” 

Tony wanted to say something, but then Peter had already disappeared through the door where Johnson was still standing. Johnson's smirk had faded, thinking that he'd been wrong in his assumptions.

“Why are you here, Johnson?” Asked Tony agitated, leaning back in his chair, index finger and thumb massaging the bridge of his nose.  Johnsons looked as though he for a second completely had forgotten his initial motive for seeking Tony out. Then he snapped his fingers. “Right!” 

His voice suddenly turned serious, when he spoke again, causing Tony’s agitation to turn into anxious anticipation.

“It’s Hogan.”

“What happened?” Tony suddenly felt hoarse when he spoke.

“They want to amputate his arm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever to write. I must have started it like three times, each time deciding that the story was moving in the wrong direction so I ended up starting over again.... so, yeahthiswasareallydifficultchapteraaaAAaa
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Mi scusi! Mi scusi, non sono una minaccia. Siamo alleati.  
> (Excuse me! Sorry, I'm not a threat. We are allies.)
> 
> Ah, soldato inglese!  
> (Ah, English soldier!)
> 
> Sì, sono inglese. Il partigiano ha preso il controllo di questa città?  
> (Yes, I'm english. Have the partisan taken control of this town?)
> 
> Sì, abbiamo preso il controllo di questa città qualche giorno fa.  
> (Yes, we seized control of this town a few days ago. )
> 
> Btw I don't know any Italian whatsoever:( this is all google translate.


	6. Clutching at Straws

The sun was shining brightly into Peter’s eyes, as he straightened the fabric of his shirt and hung it on an old drying rack to dry. 

He’d found the drying rack in the backyard of the house, counting himself lucky that the sun still reached over the sand-colored wall that surrounded it, illuminating his surroundings in a brilliant yellow. He felt warm and fluttering deep inside his stomach, and that wasn’t just from the rays of the sun. Had he been dreaming before? He could have sworn that Tony had been leaning in towards Peter, with  _ want _ in his dark eyes. Peter let his hands fall to his sides when he’d hung up the last piece of clothing, closing his eyes to let the sun lick over his face. 

There wasn't any doubt that it had all been in his head. There was no way a man as admirable as Tony would be attracted to a scrawny kid such as himself. Peter was delusional for even humoring the idea. But how he wished for it to not be such a reach for him to think that. It was becoming quite clear to him that those fuzzy feelings he’d felt towards the man were those of yearning. He wanted those rough hands on his skin. Wanted those warm eyes to be on him. Wanted his name to be spoken by those lips. 

Peter sighed. It was unnatural for him to want that, he knew. Love between men was a sick thing. Peter had been told as much through the few instances of mentions he’d experienced in everyday situations and in the church where the priest had hurried through the passage of what kinds of love that were the acceptable kinds. 

As he was younger he’d only understood that there existed people who had those unnatural tendencies, when a boy from his school had started boasting about it with great disgust after having picked up on it from the grown-ups’ conversations. Peter felt weird about the subject. He never felt the attraction that others felt toward those of the opposite sex, and he knew he was weird for not having the same enthusiasm when it came to the subject of girls like the other boys. He had always felt it an absurd thought when people had hinted at him and Mj being closer than friends. Just thinking of kissing her felt entirely too wrong for him but he’d just assumed that it had been because they were too good friends.

But Peter knew now that it wasn’t that. It was because there was something wrong with him. He was sick for having these feelings towards Tony but that didn’t seem to keep his body from reacting the way it did whenever he was close to the man. 

Peter felt how those warm fuzzy feelings were poisoned by the shame he felt. Felt how they convulsed pitifully in his stomach before lifelessly falling to the bottom, where they laid heavily as rotten leaves do on the forest ground. Not even the sun helped this dreadful void that had suddenly arisen inside him.

He opened his eyes to the sight of birds playfully leaping around the yard all around him. He smiled sorrowfully to himself. At least they didn’t seem to have suffered from the war. That made him feel a little relief in his otherwise pathetic mood. 

“Kid.” The voice sounded from behind him, and he turned to meet with the brown eyes of Tony. Peter felt - almost to his dismay - that warm feeling that had just died rise up again. Revenant in the pit of his stomach. 

Tony was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost with his arms crossed. His eyes were watching Peter attentively and Peter felt the warmth spread, along with tension throughout his body. The intensity Peter received from the older’s eyes, though warm, was more than he could handle. He let his eyes fall to where his fingers were fidgeting with the white cloth of his shirt. Tony walked a bit out into the yard, sitting on an old wooden bench that was placed in front of the kitchen window.

“Are the shirts dry yet?” He asked after a moment, that had been filled with the song of the birds. Peter shrugged. He barely trusted his voice to carry the words without stutter but took in a deep breath to try and calm himself.

“Mostly not, but they will be soon. The sun works quickly.” The breath became trapped as he spoke, and he felt that his voice became too high, but Tony just nodded. His mind seemed to be somewhere else, but Peter hadn't the slightest idea of where.

“Good. I need you to put it on now. We have an emergency.” His serious voice had Peter looking up again worry falling onto his face. 

“What’s going on?” 

Tony leaned back, hands coming up to his face to rub at his brows. “I’ll tell you when you’ve put your shirt on.”

  
  


\---

  
  


Peter walked closely behind Tony as they hastily made their way into the medical facility. He saw Hogan in one of the beds and felt his hands go cold along with his feet. Tony spoke when they stood right in front of it. 

“How’re you feeling, Hogan?” He asked, the neutral voice hiding his true feelings behind it. 

“I feel alright. Well, this, of course, isn't the outcome I hoped for, but I’d rather lose the arm than my life.” Hogan smiled a sad smile, and Peter could no longer keep silent.

“I’m so, so, sorry, Hogan,” tears were whelming up into his eyes as he spoke the words with a shaky voice. With much embarrassment, he felt how his ears warmed with the knowledge of his inability to keep his emotions in check.

Hogan shook his head. 

“It's not your fault, kid.” He answered lightly as if this wasn't one of the worst things Peter had ever experienced.

“But it is!” 

His voice became louder as he spoke through the tears. He barely noticed now, how he attracted the attention of both the staff and patients in the small medical facility, with his heightened voice. He didn't care even if he had noticed. “If I hadn't hesitated, this wouldn't be happening!” 

Hogan gave him a rare kind smile, and Peter wondered if he'd ever smiled at him before. 

“ Please don't blame yourself, Peter. With this, I get to return home to my wife, and  _ God,  _ do I miss her. Because of  _ you,  _ I get to go home alive, and for that, I owe you everything I own. So please save your tears for another day.” 

Tony's hand came up to lay upon Peter's shaking shoulder. 

“See, kid? This is the best outcome for most soldiers.” 

Peter understood what they both meant, but it didn't help ease the knot that had formed in his stomach. He wanted to shout how they were both wrong, but luckily a doctor joined them before he was able to do so.

“È tempo di iniziare la procedura.” He said not minding Peter's tears much. He looked void of much other than indifference and weariness, which made him seem a great deal older than he probably was.

Tony nodded at the doctor, turning towards the other two. “He says it's time for the procedure. Why don't you go ahead, Peter? I’ll catch up with you after.” 

Peter wiped his tears and snot away, trying to pull himself together. He should stay during the procedure too - especially if Tony did - since it, after all, was Peter’s fault, but the older’s eyes told him that this wasn't to be discussed.

“Yes, sir.” He glanced at Hogan the last time before pulling himself out of Tony's hand and moved towards the exit. His legs became weaker and weaker as he made it closer to the door, but he forced them to keep him upright until he made it outside. 

On the staircase of a building besides the medical facility, he let himself slump down. He didn’t know what to do with himself. The dread inside of him was too much and he didn’t know how to lessen it. His eyes caught the small brick church and his legs mindlessly carried him towards it.

  
  


\---

  
  
  


Tony let the heavy wooden doors slam behind him, as he entered the small church that was situated by the town square. He'd been told, by a couple, that a young British soldier matching Peter's description had gone inside the church not too long ago. 

The silence inside of the brick walls stood in stark contrast to all the screaming he’d been surrounded by before. The stillness was almost deafening. 

It would be lying to say that Tony wasn’t shaky after what he’d been through, but he’d learned to shove it deep down inside, instead of letting it show, throughout the many years in the army and even before. It was better that way. Especially when he was the one in charge. But oh God how had there been much blood. It was as if the color red had been etched into his retinas.

His eyes caught the figure of Peter. He was standing in front of a huge row of candles down at the end of the side aisle. Tony began walking up to him. Besides Peter, was only an old lady in the church. She was sitting in the farther corner, head bend and rosary clutched in her hands. 

“How’re you holding up, kid?” Asked Tony when he made it up to Peter’s side. The candle lights were flickering over Peter’s face, illuminating it in low golden light.

Peter shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know if you could call it that, sir.” The movement of his face was a bit contorted as he spoke, lips quivering with every vowel. He looked up from the candles to Tony. His eyes were glistening but he blinked the tears away before they could form entirely. 

“Besides, I should be asking you that. Were you there throughout the entire procedure?” 

Tony nodded and images of earlier flashed before his eyes. The blood of his dear friend flowing from where the doctor was making incisions in his flesh. The horror on Hogan’s face as he’d scream. The doctor and nurses had given Hogan what anesthetics they could spare, but it hadn’t been enough. Tony clenched his teeth. The nurses and Tony had had to hold down Hogan as he’d thrashed and begged for them to stop when the doctor had begun sawing through the bone.

“The procedure went well, kid.” Tony didn’t have the heart to tell Peter of the details. It was better to spare him, right? Besides, it wasn’t a lie. The procedure did go after the plan if you considered the circumstances.

Peter’s analyzing eyes were on him and he did his best to hold his face neutral. 

“Can I see him?” Asked Peter after a moment. 

Tony could hear that he doubted his words. He was a bright kid after all. Tony wished he could tell him yes so that he could be put a little at ease, but the situation simply didn’t allow it. 

“Peter… I’m sorry but I’ve arranged with the partisans that Hogan could tag along with them back to the allied lines so that he can be put on a ship home. They were going to have an expedition there anyways, to get some equipment to aid in their collaboration with the allies, so they agreed.” He said. “They leave soon.” 

Peter looked down. “I see.”

“But don’t worry Peter, he’s alright and will make a full recovery.” Tony wanted to tilt Peter’s head back up so that he could look into his eyes, and convey that he truly meant it, but he refrained from doing so.

He felt a bit inadequate on this subject and at trying to help put the boy at ease, so he decided to change the subject.

“Are you catholic?” He said, willing his voice into a more aloof tone.

Peter shook his head. “No, sir, I’m a protestant.” 

“You do know that you’re in the wrong church then, right?”

A sort of crooked smile pulled in the corner of Peter’s lips, as he looked up at Tony and nodded.

“Obviously. I’m not a false believer you know.”

Tony could barely keep a smile from forming on his lips but forced it under the guise of an obvious put-on nonchalance. 

“Hhmm, of course, you’re not.” Said Tony sarcastically.

“Wha- But I am not! I was both christened and went to church every Sunday back in England!”

Peter’s voice rose throughout his miniature speech and the old lady turned to shush at him. Tony couldn’t keep himself from laughing when Peter’s face turned red.

“Perdono.” He said in the lady’s direction, before speaking to the kid again, though this time around in a calmer tone. “I believe you, kid.” He still couldn’t rub the grin off his face, and it seemed to vexed Peter. He was almost pouting, though, in a feigned manner.

“Do  _ you _ believe in God?” Asked Peter. 

Tony knew that the question was an extension of their playful teasing, but something in Peter’s eyes told him that he wanted a true answer. Tony looked around at the church. By the alter was a statue of Jesus. The tortured form was illustrated in marble that had been painted to look real - to remind the believer of humanity’s everlasting need to repent. Gash wounds on the body, blood almost dripping from the crown of thorns down into the eyes of mankind’s savior. 

“I don’t.” He said, knowing that it was a profane answer.

Peter frowned, both curious and almost upset. “Why not?”

“I don’t believe that we are made to suffer. Would a benevolent God allow all this pain? I severely doubt it. And I won't believe in a God that would inflict such cruelty onto his creations. My old man was a catholic and he believed. He believed in a  _ righteous _ God and he believed that he was a righteous man. But his sinfulness was more than it is in most.” Tony could feel how spite sounded in his voice. 

He began noticing how his answer had speculation put in motion. 

“So, you think that God might not be so infallible if he exists?” Asked Peter softly. 

Tony nodded and his hand came up to smooth through the soft curls on the boy’s head. Tony only noticed what he was doing when a warm color embraced Peter’s cheeks and he knew that he should stop. He cleared his throat as he ruffled Peter’s hair once before retracting the hand. 

“We should find something to eat. A growing kid such as yourself must be hungry too.” Tony almost cringed as he felt how ill an attempt his words had been at making the action seem more nonchalant. 

Peter nodded though, without much further pondering. “Yeah, you’re right.” He mumbled as he followed Tony out of the church. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


The small place they'd found was lit up with candlelight. The guests inside were apparent in their good mood - high voices paired with laughter filling the air inside of the walls. Women and men were drinking and dining - though mostly the first mentioned - and all enjoyed the freedom of a town that had so long been under the weight and rule of others. 

Peter and Tony had been led by the owner to a small secluded table in the corner of the place, beside a stairway. Tony had ordered for the both of them, feeling amused and a little exalted when Peter with big eyes had asked him to translate the words to him. The kid was so obviously mesmerized by the unknown language and it's unfamiliar sounding words. 

The food was delicious and better than anything Tony had gotten in a long time. He could barely remember the last time he'd eaten anything nearly this good. He saw the same enthusiasm he felt on Peter's face as he happily brought the fork with spaghetti up to his mouth, lips curling around it. The sounds of delight that the young man made at the delicious food almost had Tony chuckling to himself. 

“I guess it would be a dumb question to ask if you like the food, huh kid?”

Peter nodded eagerly as he swallowed. 

“It’s really good,” he said, busily taking another bite. “I don’t even have the words to describe how good it is, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony smiled in agreement. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do the dish justice with the words he knew. The wine, of course, didn’t make anything worse. He’d been told by the chef that it had been made from the town's’ own grape field. He took a sip of it, noticing how Peter’s eyes followed his motion.

“What, kid? Do you want to try some as well?” He asked. 

Peter licked his lips, the action catching Tony’s attention.

“Is it good?” His face was flushed by the warmth inside the place making him seem so youthful and almost alluring. Tony nodded, reaching him the glass. 

“Try it.” 

Peter took the glass, eyeing the liquid as though it was something extraordinary, before taking a sip. Tony couldn’t help but noticed how Peter drank from the same part of the glass that Tony had and felt a buzz at that notion. Peter’s Adam’s apple bopped as he swallowed, tongue licking the remainders of the deep red liquid off his lips when he had removed the glass. Tony was hypnotized by the action and felt unable to redirect his attention elsewhere. Peter smiled shyly as he reached the glass back over to Tony.

“It’s a bit bitter.” He said with a light chuckle. 

“Yeah, I guess it is. It’s the kind of taste you’ll learn to like with a bit of practice.” 

Tony leaned back in his chair. 

“I think I already do like it, sir.” Peter’s fingers began fidgeting with the tablecloth. Why was he so nervous? 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Said Tony with a chuckle. He picked up the glass and poured the rest of it down his throat, before looking at Peter again.

Peter looked as though he wanted to say something when the door to the place flew up with commotion. Tony instantly knew who it was when the loud voices filled the air. It was Johnson and Williams, in companionship with two young girls. They were non-stop giggling, swaying between the men. Tony felt his body tense when Johnson stretched out his arms in recognition of him and Peter. 

“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” Sounded his clamorous voice. He staggered towards them and Tony steeled his nerves. 

“That seems like a real romantic dinner if you ask me.” The big man dragged a chair over to their table. He put his arm over Peter’s shoulder with exaggerated friendliness when he sat down. Tony clenched his teeth but held his tongue when Peter shrugged the arm off of him, glaring at the big brute after.

“Feisty,” mumbled Johnson with a grin directed at Peter. He looked back over to Tony as if to make sure that he noticed his provoking behavior, the usual idiotic grin playing on his lips. Tony held his eyes calmly but coldly, and let his eyes bore into the other. Johnson pulled a bit back in his chair, face beginning to waver before the girl called his name with a thick Italian accent. Johnson regained his grin, though it looked more feigned than before. He took the bottle of wine as he stood up and waved half-heartedly as he turned towards his comrades and shouted a nonchalant “cheers” at Peter and Tony.

Tony only noticed how his jaw had clenched up when he looked back at Peter. His hands were fidgeting but his eyes were looking up at Tony with an amorous glance. Tony opened his mouth to say something but found himself unable to find any words. None of that suddenly mattered, though, when the door flew up once again. This time a breathless young partisan soldier came bursting through, drawing everyone’s attention to him. The good atmospheric noises quieted down as he slammed the door behind him, sliding down it with his back.

“I tedeschi! Loro sono qui!”

Scattered fearful gasps sounded from a few of the customers. Peter looked at Tony, confusion apparent on his face. 

“The Germans are here.” 

Tony’s voice was low and his body felt numb. Peter’s face faltered and his brows drew up in worry. Tony began hearing the unmistakable rumbling of a tank, through the silence in the distance of the town. He reached down to the side of his table hurriedly fumbling for his gun. Outside, shouting and the sounds of both guns and explosions started to be heard.

“Grab your rifle, Peter.”

He commanded, and Peter scrambled after it. Tony stood up and grabbed Peter, who had barely gotten a hold of the gun, by the arm to pull him out of the chair as well. Suddenly a pressure wave came through the small place, punching through them, ripping them and everything around them to the floor. 

People screaming and glass shattering was drowned out by the ear-deafening roar of an explosion. Rubble rained down everywhere around Tony, crashing down in some places. 

A sharp tone pierced through his ears, as he began regaining a hang of the situation. The shop was filled with smoke. It was nearly impossible to make out the few figures that slowly had begun to try and stand up. He began feeling a surge of heat from around him. The air felt thick and Tony was afraid of panicking when he felt it impossible to get enough oxygen insides his lungs.

Not far from Tony laid Peter, face heavy against the floor. Tony's heartbeat mixed with the high pitched tone in his ears. 

He began shuffling towards the kid. The numbness of his body making his movements frustratingly slow and sluggish. But he pulled himself towards Peter regardless.  He grabbed Peter by the shoulder and turned him onto his back, pieces of rubble falling from his hair. 

The motionless face, that was revealed to Tony, had his stomach dropping. Grey dust covered most of the young face and it had gathered in clumps with the blood from a head wound in his eye. Tony started shaking him by the shoulders. 

“Peter-” He tried, but his voice was stuck in his throat that had been dried by the inhalation of dust. 

“Peter- hey, kid!” He tried again and this time his voice ripped through his throat. He repositioned himself, the sinking feeling in his gut dropping further. 

Tony apprehended just barely, voices yelling behind the smoke. 

“Fuoco!”

He began smelling the soot now, and the unmistakable golden light of flames flickered through the dark smoke, painting it in orange and red.  He looked back down at Peter who still laid motionlessly on the floor and began shaking him even more roughly than before.

“Hey- Peter! Wake up!”

His head followed the motions, muscles lose. Tony could feel how his thoughts ran a thousand miles a minute while a thick silence at the same time laid inside his head like a layer of hollowness. 

He fervently kept yelling at Peter. He fervently kept shaking him with vigor. And none of it seemed to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, what a cliffhanger, huh?
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> Translations:  
> “È tempo di iniziare la procedura.”  
> (It's time for the procedure)
> 
> "I tedeschi! Loro sono qui!"  
> (The Germans! They're here!)
> 
> "Fuoco"  
> (Fire)


	7. Bated Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so freaking difficult to write! I hope it's not entirely wack and I hope you guys enjoy it :::)))
> 
> Oh and btw, I’m playing around with the layout and y’know spaces in between the dialogue, but none of it really sits right :/

Tony wasn't commanding Peter to wake up anymore; he was begging him.

Tony’s heart wasn't in his chest anymore; it was in his throat. 

The young face before him was lifeless. Grey dust covered it, making Peter appear pale. But the most worrying, was the gash on his forehead. A bloodied trail had worked its way down into his closed eyes.

Somewhere behind the smoke, a window that not already had been shattered, burst from the heat, the fire increasing around them. The oxygen was devoured, and breathing became difficult. He had to get them out. 

Despite his limp right arm, that felt more like a useless appendage, he tried pulling Peter into him so that he could carry him. He gritted his teeth. Sharp pain from his shoulder spread through his arm and upper back. It felt like the muscle threatened to tear itself loose from where it was attached and he was forced to let go of Peter. Tony’s breathing was panicked and they didn't supply much oxygen. Frantically, he tried again. This time setting out to ignore the pain. The horrendous burn had stars dancing in front of Tony's eyes and he was scared of fainting. But he didn’t faint. And he didn’t give in to the pain. 

The sound of an automatic rifle tore through the crackling of the fire, just as he had gotten Peter up into his arms. Scattered screams from people further down towards the entrance were carried through the smoke. Tony ground his teeth together with pain as he pulled Peter into him, like it was a default, ducking down behind the table that had been ripped to the ground. 

Glass pierced into his knee where he knelt to the floor, but the pain barely registered. A spasm of shock rolled through him as a round of bullets cracked into the upper part of the table above their heads. It was difficult to grasp any kind of course of action, with the frantic state his mind was in.

Tony's eyes caught the stairs they’d sat beside throughout their dinner. They appeared to lead out into the backyard. But they were fully ablaze. Flames licked up and down the door frame, desperate to devour the wood. The stairs weren’t far from them, perhaps a few meters, and it certainly had to be their best route of escape, even  _ despite  _ the voracious flames.

His muscles flexed when the automatic rifle came to a halt, having used up a round of bullets and he threw himself and Peter through the blaze of heat. 

Fresh air hit him like a dive into ice water. The rifle resumed shooting not long after, bullets ripping through the inferno. 

Tony heaved after the oxygen that suddenly was so plentiful. His body was heavy but he scrambled towards Peter despite it. Fervently, he felt after a pulse in Peter’s neck with a shaking hand and a prayer on his lips. 

He breathed out relieved. Right there under his finger, a steady rhythm beat. Peter was alive. He was going to be alright. Tony let the incessant heaviness pull him down to the ground, the reassurance easing him a bit.

The cold evening air almost burned in Tony's lungs. He felt lightheaded still, but the fog was beginning to dissipate. And with the absence of it, he remembered with a sinking feeling, the rest of his team that had been inside. His mouth felt dry. Well, drier than it already was. Which shouldn't have been possible? 

Williams and Johnson had been closer to the entrance. The had been close- much too close, to where the tank had created a hole through the place. It felt as though the ground that Tony was lying on, was about to swallow him. He knew that the chance that they have survived was slim to none, but he had to try and salvage what remained of them. The one in charge of them was him. They were his goddamn responsibility. And their lives were on his conscience, so he'd be damned if he couldn't even bring their tags and letters home to their families. Even if they weren’t the most honorable of men. They more or less used to be. Back when the memories of the home had still been fresh. Tony still remembered how they’d fought for all the right reasons in the beginning. And even if they weren’t who they used to be, he couldn’t just leave them with the smallest off chance that they were alive.

Tony’s body disagreed with him when he stood up, shockwaves of pain dashing throughout his limbs. The world around him was spinning more and more. Dizzying and vomit inducingly spinning. 

He looked into the sneering flames that had grown and become even more violent than before. The heat was like a massive wall when he took a few steps towards the door. Tony was neither an optimist nor a fool. He knew he wouldn’t survive this endeavor, whatever the point might be. Other than to ease his guilt of being alive when his teammates weren’t. Nobody could survive inside that heat for long. It felt alienated and strange when he breathed out unsteadily, foot prepared to lift from the ground. A cough from behind him pulled him back to reality. He took a step back from the fiery entrance. 

Peter. The kid wouldn’t make it without him. He wouldn’t even have been here, had it not been for Tony. He had to survive so that Peter could. He owed him that much.

Peter’s coughing was steadily becoming more insistent as he awoke. 

> “Hey, kid.” Said Tony worry washing over him as he kneeled beside him. Peter’s eyes fluttered open, quickly widening in distress. He tried to roll over, to make it easier for his lungs, only succeeding when Tony helped with a hand on his back. 
> 
> “That’s it, just try and breathe. It’s only dust.” Tony kept his hand on his shoulder, in reassurance. 

Peter’s eyes were teary and red when he looked up at Tony disorientated. 

> “Wh-what’s- going on?” Managed Peter to squeeze out in between the coughing. 

He looked at Tony as if he had a hard time focusing on his face.

> “A tank, kid.” 

Peter's eyes widened and he began pushing himself up to sit, Tony’s hand supporting the motion. Peter bewilderedly put a hand up to his face, shaking fingers feeling at the head wound. He eyed the blood on his fingers when he brought the hand back down. The expression on his face changed from confusion into a panic. Tony had to ignore the expression on Peter’s face, his stomach clenching in on itself at the sight. 

The commotion of war sounded in the distance still, explosions and guns.

> “We have to get going. Do you think you can stand?” Tony turned his nerves down when he looked at Peter, pushing the worry aside. 

He needed to be levelheaded and calm if he were to get them out of this situation. 

Peter nodded and moved to get up on his feet.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  
  


Peter’s head was pounding and it was difficult for his eyes to focus on his surroundings, as they made it down an alleyway. 

It was all spinning and rotating as if he was inside a funhouse, that had rapidly moving mechanical floors.

He put a hand upon the wall to his side in an attempt to gain a bit of support, worried about suddenly losing his balance. He and Tony were walking through one of the alleyways that lead away from the restaurant and hopefully away from the German forces. It was narrow and dark - the lack of light, fingers crossed, enough to hide them from any enemies. 

Peter didn’t remember when he’d lost his gun, but he made an effort out of walking as closely to Tony as he could, scared of what could happen to them at any moment. Those bombs that went off now and again in the distance had Peter feeling jumpy and jittery. 

A particularly big boom sounded, the pavement beneath Peter’s feet shaking, and he instinctively crouched down with his arms shielding his face. He cracked his eyes open when nothing more happened, eyeing Tony’s boots in front of him. Peter half expected a disappointed huff of air or a snarky comment from Tony, but his voice sounded comfortingly instead.

> “It’s okay, Peter. That one was far away. You can get up again.” 

Peter looked up at Tony who was reaching his hand down to Peter. He nodded, took the hand, and was pulled up to his feet. Tony quickly retreated his hand again to grip at his arm, with a badly hidden grimace. 

> “Your arm. What’s wrong with it?”

Tony shrugged. 

> “Don’t know. Probably just sprained it earlier.” 

Peter was doubtful of the amount of truth in the statement but they were interrupted before he could say anything. Distant voices cut in on their conversation and Peter took in an alarmed, quick intake of air before both Tony and he froze in their tracks. 

The voices were distant at first, but it quickly became apparent that they were moving in the direction of Peter and Tony and that it was a small unit of German soldiers.

Tony nodded in the direction they were moving, and they were soon running. The alleyway was closed off on both their sides and their only route of escape was forwards. 

The booms of bombs grew in volume as they made it further down the alleyway, and Peter felt his feet hesitate more and more with every step. They were running towards the hotspot of the battle, weren’t they? But they couldn’t really turn around.

The road made a turn and the point where the end of the walls of the buildings appeared. Beyond that was the town’s square. Sporadic lights peaked down the alleyway, synchronously with thunderous quakes igniting the shadows. Tony and Peter stopped a bit away, where the darkness still hid them. The voices and the marching of the soldiers had been distant for a little while, but they’d grown in volume quickly, catching in on Peter and Tony.

> “Maybe we can fight them?” Suggested Peter. 

Tony considered it for a second, squeezing his rifle with his healthy hand. 

> “I don’t know, kid. We only have one gun with limited bullets, and we’re both wounded.” Tony scratched the back of his head.
> 
> “But what other choices do we have?” 

Tony’s eyes that until now had been anywhere but directed at Peter darted to his eyes for a split second, before away again. 

> “I don’t know.” 

His voice was low. He walked a bit around, before he leaned back against the wall to his side, hand coming up to meet with his forehead. Peter took a small step towards him.

> “Sir-“ He tried but was quickly cut off.
> 
> “I don’t know, okay?” 

Tony’s voice was agitated as he drew his hand through his hair, eyes meeting with Peter’s. His eyes didn’t match the tone of his voice. They were more apologetic than anything else. The voices that still could be heard in between the booms, were edging in on them - a constant reminder that they were running out of time. 

Peter walked over to Tony’s side, leaning against the same wall he did.

> “It’s fine, sir. It’s not your fault.”

> “Nope, you’re wrong. It’s entirely my fau—“ 

Tony suddenly stopped mid-sentence and he seemed to be entirely preoccupied with something else when Peter looked up at him. 

> “What?”
> 
> “Right there,” he pointed at a shadow, “it’s a door.” 

Peter frowned. He didn’t see any door. Then he suddenly widened his eyes. A second of light that crept down the alleyway revealed it to him. Tony lifted the gun strap over his head and reached it to Peter.

> “Here, hold this.” 

Peter did and Tony walked over to the door, to try and open it. It was locked. A laugh further down the alley drew Peter’s attention and his heart spiked. Tony began trying to punch in the door, using his healthy shoulder. The creaking and banging against the door had Peter flinching, worry washing over him at the noise it made. His grip on the rifle became tighter as he could hear the voices inching closer on them. 

> “Sir- they’re close.” Peter’s voice was a mere whisper, when it sounded, being stuck in his throat. 

Tony took a step back, to kick at the door. It didn’t yield entirely but the creak sounded more complaining this time. Peter had to close his eyes. It was too late. The soldiers were nearing the corner. And when they turned around it, it would be over. 

Tony kicked at the door again and this time the wood cracked, giving away under the force. Peter was pulled in the direction of the door and then pushed through it. He stumbled inside the narrow hallway onto the stairs inside it, but he didn’t register the pain of the fall. Tony followed after, slamming the door behind them and keeping it shut with the weight of his body. Peter shuffled on to his back, his hands clutching the rifle with white knuckles, trying to convince himself that he’d be ready to use it.

They stared at each other in silence as the soldiers’ voices sounded through the door. Peter could barely hear neither them nor their marching boots over the terrible rushing of his blood and the beating of his heart in his ears. It was deafening. He didn’t dare to breathe. Tony stood completely still as well. 

Then the voices began to get quieter and quieter as they moved away, and Tony breathed out with relief.

> “We’re safe. For now at least.” 

He moved towards Peter. 

> “Are you okay, kid? Sorry I didn’t mean to push you so roughly.” 

He looked apologetically down at Peter. Peter nodded. 

> “I'm totally fine. Just trying to regain the ability to breathe. That was really unnerving.”

Tony ruffled Peter’s hair and Peter had to convince himself not to lean into the warm touch.

> “You and me both. Way too close for comfort.”
> 
> Tony looked around the hallway. “Come on. Let’s see if we can get a better overview of our situation.” 

He walked up the stairs to the apartment, Peter quickly getting up to follow him. 

It was dark inside. Well, except for the flashes of light that followed every bomb and flickering fires that stood ablaze throughout the entire town. 

The room they were in had been ruthlessly ransacked, furniture, and smashed objects in a jumble all over the floor. 

> “What do you think happened to the owners?” Asked Peter as he crouched down to pick up a picture frame that had been smashed to the floor. A wedding photo. 

Tony shrugged. 

> “Best not think about that right now, kid.”

He walked up to the window, keeping himself out of view from any possible onlookers on the ground. Peter placed the photo on a table that as the only thing inside the room still was standing. Then he moved to follow Tony’s trail over to the window but stopped when the man held up his hand as if to tell him not to.

> “Stay there, Peter.” 

> “Why?” 

Tony hesitated as if he tried to find the right words. 

> “Just trust me. You don’t need to see this.”

Peter had by now learned to do what Tony said, but something inside him lured him into not heeding the command. Perhaps it was just his curiosity getting the better of him. 

Tony breathed out exasperated when he with surprise, glanced to his side at Peter, who squatted down beside him.

> “Kid, seriously.”

Peter didn’t answer, busy trying to understand what was going on down in the square.

German soldiers ran around, like ants obeying orders. The one in command yelled harshly seemingly at the soldiers who were locking up the church’s entrance with a thick chain lock. What were they doing? It was exceedingly clear that their numbers greatly outnumbered the partisans, and that was without comparing the quantity and quality of their weaponry. 

A sudden burst shook through Peter’s body both him and Tony flinching. The entire building reverberated, creaking, and crumbling. Peter thought it was about to come down on his head, but by some kind of miracle, it withstood. Flickers of flames shined from within the church and it was not even seconds later enveloped in the flames of a firebomb, that ferociously bit into the bricks. But the fire wasn’t what made it run down Peter’s spine. 

Screaming and yelling sounded from inside the smoke-shrouded church. 

> “Please, Peter, I beg you to turn around.” Said Tony, but Peter didn’t hear him. Not really. 

He felt his stomach turning, nauseated when it dawned on him that the screaming voices belonged to children and women. 

His hand gripped after the rifle and he was about to put the handle up to his shoulder when Tony’s hand stopped him. Peter looked at him shocked.

> “They're burning- we have to do something.” 

Peter didn’t understand. How could Tony not do anything? How could they just stand on watching as the Germans burned women and children? He tried to wrench the gun out of Tony’s hand, intent on doing whatever he  _ could  _ do. White noise drowned out any coherent thought he had. Tony gripped the rifle again before he had gotten it into position. 

> “There's nothing we  _ can  _ do, kid.” Said Tony through clenched teeth. 

Peter looked at him with furrowed brows. 

> “We can’t just do nothing! Are you really trying to tell me that we're just going to do nothing while civilians  _ burn  _ to death?” 

He knew his distress was coming through to the other but it didn’t seem to make any difference to Tony. Infuriated, ripped Peter his gun out of Tony’s grip, placing it on the windowsill, but it was quickly ripped away from him again, though this time entirely out of his hands. 

He scrambled after it, almost throwing himself at Tony. It took barely a moment of wrestling for Tony to have Peter pinned to the floor, his body locking Peter’s down. Tears that Peter didn’t know was there, trickled down his cheeks, creating a wet trail into his ears.

> “Listen to me, kid!” Hissed Tony. “Give it up! It’s hopeless!” 

His face was stern like he was apprehending a child. Peter felt his stomach burn with anger and confusion, and his voice was lower and more spiteful than he thought possible. 

> “First you force me to shoot a man that was begging for his life, scolding me for not shooting.” The words felt bitter and unripe in his mouth. He didn’t know if that spite in his voice was pointed at Tony or the absurdity of this situation. “And now… now you order me to not take a shot at some truly horrible people, in order to save innocent lives.”

Guilt flashed over Tony’s eyes, before he closed them for a brief second, taking in a deep breath. 

> “It was a different situation back there.” 

The regular sternness returned when he opened them again. His eyes were piercing through Peter, which made him feel like a child being scolded. 

Tony’s weight shifted off of Peter, but that wasn’t to release him entirely. He dragged Peter upon his knees to the window instead. One of his hands was in Peter’s hair, the other one bending his arm on his back. The hold Tony had on him wasn’t hurting, though Peter couldn’t care less about whether it hurt or not right now. 

He struggled against the hold, wanting anything else than having to look at the firestorm of a church again. The gut-wrenching feeling came rushing back together with a lump in his throat, that he tried to swallow down. But the tears were unrelentingly pressing through his resolve to not cry. He didn’t know which was worse. The sounds or the visuals.

Tony tightened his grip on Peter until his muscles gave up the struggle.

> “Use your head, Peter! Who are you going to shoot? Whose death here will save _ them _ ?” 

His voice was a harsh, low rumble, but something lied underneath it. Something anxious.

Peter forced his eyes to look down into the square. The fire was burning furiously. Even the death of the commanding soldier wouldn’t put the fire out or get the civilians out.

> Peter shook his head, teeth biting furiously at his lip. “I don’t know, sir.” He bit out. 

His breathing was all wacky when he spoke, but his voice surprisingly steady. He wanted to turn around and look Tony in the eyes, to convey his contempt at the indignified treatment he was receiving, but the older’s hold on him tightened intently.

> “Will they know where the shot came from?”

Inquired Tony. 

The lights of the fire and the number of soldiers would render him discovered within perhaps a minute. Peter was holding his breath until it felt too heavy inside his lungs. The tears were prickling behind his eyes.

> “Yes.”
> 
> “Good.” Said Tony as he pulled him away from the window, hugging him into his chest as if to shield his vision from view.

Peter’s first instinct was to fight against the embrace, angry at being subjugated in such a manner. But his body, against all his wishes, quickly went lax, as if welcoming the warm embrace. He began shaking violently within moments, the tears forcing their way through his illusion of control. It was as if every exhale had to fight their way out of the lungs. Peter tried to keep his voice down, desperately trying to regain control of himself, but he knew he was failing when he heard his own choked sobs echo inside the room. They sounded broken and foreign. Like a child that had been devastated. Tony just held him, his warm hand petting Peter’s hair in a comforting motion. 

For a brief moment he was safe. Safe from this terribly twisted reality, that felt more like a nightmare than anything else. He felt safe until Tony unwound his arms around him.

> “We have to keep going. We might have a chance to escape if we do it now while the Germans are preoccupied.”

Peter didn’t say anything as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and fought to hold in the sobs that begged to be let out, trying to ignore the fact that he was ever crying.

He felt angry. He felt disenfranchised. 

The erratic, volatile whirl storm of emotions had Peter feeling dizzy. 

He wanted to hate Tony. Hate him for the blatant inconsistency between the borderline cruelty of his actions towards Peter and the warmth with which he at times regarded him with. 

Peter wanted to hate him with everything he had, but who was he kidding? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Peter didn’t die


	8. Bone Dry

The backyard was fenced with wooden stakes. The fires had long shadows swaying with a slight wind that blew the smoke through the city. A sooty telltale of devastation. 

Another back alley was connected with the settlement, leading both to the square and out of the town. Peter walked beside Tony in silence. He wanted to sneak a peek at the man, to try and make out if he still was cross with Peter, but held himself from doing so. Peter was still angry at Tony, so he didn’t really care whether they had that in common or not.

The sounds of war had lessened as they had walked for some time. Peter wondered whether that was because they were further away from where it all was happening, or if it was because the Germans truly had overpowered the Partisan force this quickly. Probably both. They hadn’t encountered any Germans for a while now since they most likely were preoccupied in the heart of the town. 

Peter clenched his hands. They should have done more.  _ Peter _ should have done more. He felt a pair of eyes on him and saw out of the corner of his eye the older soldier looking at him for the first time in a while. 

“Peter.” 

Said Tony after a moment, but Peter didn’t look at- or acknowledge him. The man stopped, a hand on his arm dragging Peter to a halt as well. 

“Look, I’m sorry for the way I reproved you earlier. It wasn’t very constructive…” 

Damn right it wasn’t constructive, thought Peter to himself. He contemplated turning around to tell Tony that it’d have been much more constructive actually doing something to help those that had been burning inside that church, but he held his tongue. Tony was still his Sergeant and even though he wasn’t as unfair and tyrannical as the few other commanders Peter had been under, he didn’t want to challenge it. Peter knew his place.

“I wanted to do something just as much as you did. It’s a horrible feeling having to obey orders over preventing those sadistic killings.” Continued Tony, “I am just as upset as you are, Peter.”

Those empty words had the anger in Peter’s stomach boiling and he felt like a corked bottle under too much pressure. 

“Then why didn’t you do anything?! Screw those orders! They can’t have been more important than saving those people!” Yelled Peter as he turned around towards Tony, who looked almost as surprised as Peter was at the sudden outburst. 

He couldn’t stop himself from continuing.

“How can a mission that  _ I,  _ by the way, don’t know anything about, be more important than civilian lives?!” 

Peter took a step closer to Tony as he let his eyes bore into the man. The anger and frustration felt like porridge in his throat. 

“Throughout this mission, you’ve reprimanded me for not performing my duty as a marksman. Why was it not within my duties to take the shot back at that church?! ” 

“It could have stood in the way of completing our mission.”

“That’s the worst explanation I’ve ever heard!” Peter bit the inside of his cheek before he continued when Tony’s eyes had fled to anywhere other than directly at Peter. 

“How could anything possibly have been more important than saving those people?!”

“Because you could have died!” Yelled Tony finally, startling Peter.

Peter blinked surprised. He thought that risking his life was part of being a soldier, but the worry that looked more like anguish in Tony’s eyes told him differently.  Now Peter was the one fleeing from eye contact. He dropped his eyes away from Tony’s down to his chest as he held his breath, teeth biting exasperated at his bottom lip.

“Okay, but couldn’t we have aided the partisan in resisting the Germans?”

Tony took a deep breath and when his voice sounded again, it sounded calm.

“That gun on your shoulder is loaded, with, what? Four bullets? At the most. And you saw how many German soldiers there were compared to the partisan numbers, which is without even comparing the differences in weaponry. The partisans had lost from the beginning, and there isn’t anything you nor I could have done to prevent it. It was a miracle that the Germans had overlooked the town for this long. If you had taken that shot, you’d be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and there wouldn’t have been anything I or the partisans could have done. In fact, I would probably have joined you there.” 

Peter let his breath go with a deep exhale. Tony was right. Of course, he was. There wasn’t anything they could have done. The outcome would have been the same no matter what, and Tony was the only reason aunt May still had a nephew. The only reason she still had anyone.

A warm hand met with Peter’s shoulder, making him almost instantly relax the tense stance.

“Look at me, kid. This mission isn’t a suicide mission. I know I haven’t told you much about it nor... well, anything, for that matter, which is a mistake, I’m aware. But from now on I promise you I will.”

His eyes quickly scurried over their surroundings, before locking back unto Peter’s.

“But I think we both can agree that this isn’t the right place or time, wouldn’t you say?” 

Peter nodded.

“Yeah… it can wait.”

Tony’s lips formed a warm smile.

“Bright, kid.” He said as he withdrew the hand. It didn’t escape Peter how Tony quickly moved it to hold his other arm that hung limply down his side. 

Peter didn’t voice any of the concerns he had at that obviously injured arm. He wanted to but contemplated whether they had passed the strict on-the-need-to-know basis where their ranks dictated what liberties Peter could and couldn’t take, and when he’d decided that they were past those, it was too late. They were on their way again before he could articulate his concern.

  
  


—-

  
  


The first rays of the sun broke with the night, bathing everything around them in blood-red light. They were finally moving beyond the town and the surroundings that before had been houses with empty windows had been switched with fields that stretched in between and past small patches of trees. On the left side, vines with grapes stood in straight rows that led up to a house. Perhaps the wine they’d had at dinner came from this vineyard? For a little while, Peter imagined that he and Tony weren’t running from the German army, but instead spent their time harvesting grapes and making wine. 

Tony was beginning to pick up the pace and Peter could feel his muscles complain at the strain he put on them in order to follow.

“We have to find someplace safe soon. The light makes us too vulnerable.” Explained Tony, who supposedly had noticed the strain the tempo put on Peter. Probably from the way his breathing had become a tad more laboured than it had been before.

Peter nodded. That made sense.

“We also have to check out your noggin and make sure nothing has been knocked loose.” Added Tony, typical of his nature. 

Peter rolled his eyes.

“We should check yours as well, while we’re at it with my head and your arm.” Answered Peter dryly.

A huff of air sounded to his side as Tony laughed under his breath. Peter only just caught a glimpse of the amused grin on the older man’s face, but it had warmth bubbling up in his stomach.

“Worry about yourself before you worry about me, kid.”

Peter shook his head to himself, with a smile creeping upon his lips. 

His fingers mindlessly made their way up to his head wound. The blood had been dry for some time now and it easily flaked off of his forehead to stick to his fingers instead. His head was still hurting, and his body, that was deprived of nearly all basic needs such as water and sleep, felt as though it had been beaten with a baseball bat. But other than that, he was totally fine. 

Okay, perhaps ‘fine’ was a glorification of the truth, but Tony seemed surprisingly unbothered by the negligence of those ‘minor’ needs, so Peter didn’t  _ really _ want to complain. It wasn’t like those necessities came in the first place when you put the ‘want to keep on living’ on the list alongside them, anyways. 

Peter kicked a rock that tumbled into a thin layer of water in the irrigation ditch they walked beside, as he wondered if the others still were alive. He especially hoped that Hogan was okay, even though it made him feel bad towards the other two for thinking that way.

“Do you think Hogan made it out of the town?” Asked Peter, his mouth moving mindlessly.

“Yeah. I’m positive he did. They should have taken off a while before the attack started.”

Peter, that hadn’t been aware that he’d voiced his question, released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. He wanted to ask about the others as well, but he could mostly imagine that they hadn’t survived. They’d been much closer to where the tank had punched a hole through the restaurant. But perhaps they’d been lucky. Peter didn’t want to destroy that small hope by asking someone with more expertise.

Tony interrupted his train of thought suddenly. Peter was dragged by his collar into the irrigation ditch by Tony. Peter looked uneasy to his side at him in hope of an explanation. The older man just held a finger up to his lips. 

A low hum could be heard. And it was increasing in volume. Unmistakably, a military car coming their way. It could only be a German one. Peter slid further down the slanted ground and hid his face between his arms. Water made its way into his trashed boots, but he took no notice of it. He still didn’t, even as it soaked his socks.  His pulse rode like a galloping horse in his eardrums. The ground shook under him, and he thought that it was the car that did it. It probably wasn’t. But his panicking mind didn’t care about rationale at that moment.  Rattling metal of the car increased as it drove past them, and continued down the road that led down to the small winery. Were they safe now?

He looked to his side at Tony, who had begun moving towards the other side of the irrigation ditch. He slid further up the opposite slope and peaked just above the edge. 

“They’re driving towards the winery.”

Peter didn’t know if he should feel relieved at that but crawled over beside Tony. 

The winery was about three hundred meters away from them, but Peter could see the front of the house where the car stopped, even with the vines that covered most of the view.  Four soldiers, fully equipped with rifles, stepped out of the car. They seemed weirdly professional as they went over to the door and as one of them kicked it open. No warning was spared as they made their entrance. 

“What are they going to do?” Peter could feel the shake in his voice. 

“Likely not anything polite.” Was the answer that sounded through clenched teeth. 

A man was thrown roughly out through the door. Behind him followed one of the soldiers. The soldier kicked him repeatedly when he tried to scurry away on the gravel, like a hunted animal. When the man lied still, a boot was placed on his chest and the barrel of a gun at his forehead.

Peter’s body tensed up, expecting the sound of a gun going off, but it didn’t happen. At least not right now. A girl ran out from behind the back of the house. She was yelling frightened as she hurried in the direction of the soldier and the man that seemed to be her father. But one of the other soldiers stepped out before she got close to them, and grabbed her by the arm. He twisted it onto her back, by a painful wring. Peter could just barely hear the father’s begging voice, but the girl’s pained scream cut clean through the rigid breeze. It made it run cold down Peter’s spine. 

“How many bullets do we have?” Inquired Tony. 

Peter scrambled for the gun. His hands that shook didn’t help much, when he tried wrenching the unwilling metal of the rifle open, in order to check, but he somehow succeeded. 

“Four bullets, sir… as you guessed.” 

“How good of a shot are you really, kid? I’ve only truly seen you in action once.” 

The Germans were speaking together. It almost seemed as though they were discussing their approach to what they were going to do with the farmer and his daughter.

Peter shrugged. 

“Reasonable, I would think.” 

“But are you so good that you can take all four down with only one bullet to each?” The quirk in Tony’s eyebrow was challenging Peter in an almost harmless manner, even as the seriousness on his face conveyed that the situation, of course, was no laughing subject. 

Peter chewed on his lip. He was shaking. A lot. And that was no matter, how much he tried to still his hands. Flashes of falling bodies flew through his head and Peter felt his stomach turn. He didn’t want to add more faces to that photo album. But he knew, with a glance at Tony, that the man wouldn’t be able to shoot anything with that arm. Which meant that it was up to Peter.

He let a shaky breath go and when he released, he nodded. 

“I can give it a try.”

A distant laugh from one of the Nazis had both of their attention. The girl was pinned to the ground. One soldier was holding her arms, the other wrestled with her legs. 

It had been stupid of Peter to take this long to decide whether or not he was going to do something. Pointless really, because of course, neither of them would be able to turn away. Especially not when they actually had a chance this time around. 

Peter wasted no time now as he hurriedly positioned himself on the edge of the irrigation ditch. He put his eye on the aim, but his hands were shaking in such a degree that the hope of aiming with precision was an optimistic delusion.

He saw the losing battle between the girl’s legs and the soldier nearly twice her size, through the shaky focus. It didn’t take long before the soldier had gotten his hands in between her jailed thighs and under her dress. 

Peter felt his entire body tense up, as he tried to steady himself. Tried to will his shaking limbs into becoming still. But it was without luck. A cry locked itself inside his throat in the form of a lump. He wanted to scream with frustration.

Tony’s calm voice sounded. 

“Easy, kid.” A warm hand landed on his back, from where it moved up to his neck. The thumb ran in soothing circular motions. “Loosen up and breathe deep.”

Peter did as directed. He couldn’t remember when his stomach had clenched in on itself, but it was slowly unwinding with each breath.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that.” Praised the warm voice near Peter’s ear. “Now, aim at the one that has the father at gunpoint. When you feel ready, just pull the trigger. Don’t think any further than that.” 

Peter’s affirming response to the guidance was a choked sound. 

His breathing went in and out slowly. Just like Tony had told him and as uncle Ben used to show him. The world around him became slower. Intrusive information was all of a sudden less. Then they were just white noise.  Everything was as severed from his conscience, except for what he saw through the now steady aim and the warmth of Tony’s hand against his skin. 

When it felt right, pulled Peter the trigger. 

The gun recoiled as it went off.  The soldier slumped forward, but Peter didn’t get to see it.  He had already moved on to the next one before the first had hit the ground.  The next was a lot like the first one. He probably hadn’t entirely caught up with what was happening, before he too was spilling blood all around on the dusty gravel.  The third was more frantic in his movements. He pulled a gun from his belt and pointed it in all directions. Confused by the lack of knowing where the assault was coming from, he tried to run for cover. But it didn’t matter. He still went down all the same. 

The fourth wasn’t between the girl’s legs anymore, when Peter moved the rifle back to his original position. He was running towards the car. Hectically, he ripped the car door open and threw himself inside. 

“He’s getting away.” Said Tony’s voice - still calm - from behind the wall of fog that encaged Peter’s focus. 

“No.” Peter didn’t know if he said the word out loud or just thought it. Not that it mattered.

The car was sat in motion, and it moved quickly. It was bumping harshly against the holes in the ground. Peter followed the movements fluidly. Then he moved the gun further along the road, calculating where it would be next.  His finger flexed in on the metal. The gun went off. 

The vehicle sped up towards the edge of the bending road. Then it flipped, turned upside down and crashed destructively into the field. 

Peter watched as the wheels spun in the air. He watched for a while until they came to a halt.  He’d done it. He’d killed all four. Uncertainty towards which emotions he should have ended up with him feeling none. Which could be a lot worse, really. 

“Incredible.” Said Tony to his side, honest amazement in his voice. 

Peter lifted his head and looked at the man. Pride bubbled up in his stomach at the expression of awe on Tony’s face. When he turned to face Peter, the expression changed, as a playful smile spread over his lips. His hand made its way into his hair, where it ruffled the curls once or twice.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side. I wouldn’t know what hit me.” 

Peter smiled flustered. He didn’t know how to respond, so he ended up changing the subject. 

“Do you think we should go see if they’re okay?”

Tony nodded.


	9. To Tiptoe On Broken Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this chapter took so long for me to write. So I hope you guys enjoy it! ::)

Peter was restless, walking back and forth inside the storage room they were in. There wasn’t much light that escaped through the small dingy window and the wooden barrels, that were stacked on top of each other, made the space appear smaller than it really was. Tony was sitting on a stool by a table that stood off to the side. He was shirtless, as he had been separated from his shirt when the farmer, Gregorio had turned the old fabric into a sling for his arm. 

Gregorio had directed Peter with hand gestures and few English words when they together had forced Tony’s shoulder back into its socket. It was a miracle that Tony had been able to bear with the pain for this long, but Tony guaranteed Peter that had it not been for the adrenaline, wouldn’t he have made it this far. Peter thought that was severely understated. He didn’t think he personally knew anyone who could keep going while being in that amount of pain. 

Tony looked tired now that they were safe. The worry and horror that had been etched into his face as dark shadows had begun dissipating, and under them was the face of a man who looked as exhausted as Peter felt. His chest was rising and falling gently with each breath, and Peter couldn’t take his eyes off the movement. His chest was muscular and manly. Nothing like Peter’s. 

Peter swallowed hard when he realised that he’d been staring and forced his eyes away from the man. It hadn’t been the first time he’d found himself staring this morning. It was as if his eyes were drawn towards the naked skin, whenever he, as much as, looked in the direction of his sergeant. He bit the inside of his cheek as he turned on his heels to walk in the opposite direction again. Peter was way past being tired. In fact, he knew he’d been up for far too long and his surroundings were beginning to feel like something out of a dream. The exhaustion made his ears ring and his fingers felt foreign. But at the same time, he’d even lost the ability to relax. He didn’t know what to do with himself. What did he usually do when they didn’t have any immediate places to go? 

“Kid, you’re stressing me out, walking back and forth like that. Come sit down.” 

Tony’s voice sounded drained. Peter looked over at the man who patted the chair at the end of the small table he sat by. After an exhale, he obeyed. Tony leaned back again to rest against the wall, his eyes closing with the movement.

“I don’t know what has gotten your panties in a twist, but just try and relax. I’m pretty sure we’re safe here… for now at least.”

Peter scratched the back of his head. 

“Yeah, I know.” He mumbled. 

He hadn’t really been thinking about being safe or not, and now he felt kind of careless, that it hadn’t even passed his mind.

“How do you feel?” Asked Tony after a while of silence. 

Peter’s inhale was long.

“In regards to what? My injuries or the whole adding lives to my body count?”

Tony shrugged. “Both.”

Peter picked his lips, but his fingers smelled of the iron from the trigger, so he retrieved his hand back down. 

“That’s a tough question.” 

“I know. Try to answer anyways.” 

Tony cracked an eye open and looked expectantly at Peter, who blankly stared back. Peter was much more focused on not looking at his naked chest, than actually trying to come up with an answer. 

“You’re full of words today, aren’t you?” Said the man when there was no response.

Peter nodded, eyes falling to where his fingers were fidgeting with the wooden splinters in the table. 

“I suppose so.” A small smile pulled the corner of his mouth. 

“I guess I’m all petered out.”

A low chuckle sounded from Tony.

“Me too. Well, let’s start easy then; how do you physically feel?”

Peter supposed that was an answerable question. 

“Hmm, I think I feel fine. If you overlook how tired I am, and the way my head and body aches.”

“Okay, are you feeling nauseous, is your vision blurry or do your ears ring?”

Peter looked up at Tony in surprise. 

“Yes. How did you know?”

Tony opened his eyes entirely as Peter had responded. He looked as though he was analyzing the way Peter talked and moved, which made him even more self-conscious than he already was. He must have found something because the expression on his face changed.

“That’s not great, though it could be worse. Those are the classic telltales of a concussion. But I’m positive it’ll pass within a few days. What about the - as you put it - additional lives to your body count?”

Even though he sounded nonchalant, Peter could tell that he was more worried than he wanted to display, but the question that was thrown in with the diagnosis caught Peter’s attention much more. Perhaps because it sounded worse when someone else said it. Maybe because it sounded more real that way. He could still feel Tony’s eyes on him, so he leaned forward until his forehead met with the table.

Possible words and sentences whirled around in his head: Guilty. Proud. Despondent. Exhilarated. 

None of them truly felt right. Peter groaned.

“Do we have to talk about it?” 

Tony’s hand came to lay on his upper back. It didn’t do anything other than that. It just rested there. Peter wanted to both escape it while he simultaneously wanted to seek it out, as were the warmth of the other his sanctuary. How could Tony always be this warm? 

“Of course we don’t have to talk about it. It’s entirely up to you.” 

Tony’s voice was low. He sounded tired, but a lot more relaxed now that the strain in it from earlier had disappeared. A knock on the door sounded before it opened and the farmer, Gregorio stepped in. He had a tub of soapy water with washing cloths, fresh shirts for both of them and some drinking water in a jug. 

Tony and Gregorio spoke for a little in Italian, Tony telling the man ‘Gracie’ before he had turned around and left them alone again. 

“I told him that we need a place to stay for a couple of days until your head is good enough for travelling. To which he agreed, but then they want us on our way again as soon as possible.” Told Tony Peter.

“Thank goodness.” 

“Yeah, it’s real nice of them.” 

Tony pulled the soap water-filled bucket closer towards himself. 

“Well, you did save their lives, so perhaps it’s just common decency on their part.” 

Peter shook his head. There was no guarantee for Gregorio and his daughter that the strangers they’d invited into their home, truly were good people. For all they knew, he and Tony could have all kinds of ulterior motives such as robbing them or raping the daughter just like the German soldiers had tried. Especially that last thought had a bitter aftertaste.

Tony motioned for Peter to come closer and the chair scraped across the clay floor as Peter did. Tony’s healthy hand reached up to carefully push a curl out of the way, a few hairs sticking to the half-dry blood on the way. Then he dipped his hand into the water, fishing one of the washing cloths out. Peter winced when the cloth made contact with his wound. 

“Am I hurting you?”

Peter shook his head no, though that was an obvious lie. He knew that Tony saw through the brave face he put on when the worry didn’t leave his eyes. 

“I‘ll try to be careful.”

Tony softly dabbed the cloth against his wound again and Peter closed his eyes. He couldn’t help the twitch of his face on account of the sting, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. As Tony proceeded to wipe both Peter’s forehead and eye area, Peter felt the soft breath of the other on his face. The amount of skin that had to be wiped made him wonder how much the wound, in reality, had bled. It was no wonder the skin had felt so sticky. Peter had just gotten used to the sting the contact between cloth and wound caused him when it suddenly ceased. Then a large sigh, that resonated dread, sounded.

“This is not your day, kid. I’m afraid we have to stitch it.” 

Peter's eyes flew open.

“Wha- is it that bad?!”

Tony nodded with a serious smile before standing. “I’m afraid so… Stay there while I fetch a needle and some thread.”

Peter did as told and tried to keep the unease off of his mind for the time being. Which didn’t work at all. He couldn’t help but wonder about how much pain he should expect, if he would be left with a huge horrible scar for the rest of his life and whether aunt May still would be able to recognise him when he returned home. If he returned home, that was.

Tony returned not too long after having left, and Peter received the attention of a pair of analysing eyes. 

“You worried, kid?” 

Peter shook his head.

“Who, me? Not at all, sir. Not worried or scared in the slightest! I have faith that it’s going to go great, receiving medical treatment from someone who most likely has little to no expertise in the area at all!”

Peter instantaneously regretted the way he put that last part, as he said the words and hoped that Tony hadn’t noticed it. But other than that, he thought he played the probably mostly untrue statement off well. But the knowing gleam in Tony’s eyes told him that that wasn’t the reality.

“Really? Not worried at all, huh?”

The tone of his voice made no effort to hide his disbelief, and as if that wasn’t enough to point out how ridiculous a lie it had been - a smidge of mockery had been thrown in there to top it off. Peter didn’t know why he didn’t confess but instead nodded affirmingly, but that’s what he did.

“Well, that’s great, because I think I got everything we’ll need. Needle, fishing line and some strong alcohol.” He placed the items on the table as he listed them. 

Peter frowned his concern rapidly sliding through the cracking facade but regretted the choice of facial expression immediately when it dragged at the skin, making his injury hurt again. 

“Fishing line?” 

Tony pulled out a small military issued package from the pocket of his jacket, that laid over the back of his chair. 

“Yup,” he said as he ripped the paper thing open and poured the powder antiseptic into a glass of water.

“Bacteria love the regular cotton thread, so we’re going to use fishing line instead.” 

“Okay. Nevermind that. But why are you using one of the antiseptic packages - that we don’t have a lot of - when you also brought the alcohol?” 

“It’s supposed to be better for the healing process and we wouldn’t want to risk a grizzly infection to scar that beautiful forehead of yours? Not that I - a person without the _slightest_ knowledge of medical care - should pretend to know anything like that.”

The teasing tone paired with Peter’s impudent words from earlier being slung right back in his face, had the red in his cheeks whelm up. 

“Ah... you heard that, sir?” Asked Peter after their eyes met. A playful smile spread across Tony’s lips, disclosing that what Peter had said in regards to his medical skills, didn’t bother him. 

“Yes, what a way of addressing one’s Sargent. I could make you stitch yourself up?”

Peter bit his lips. Tony still wasn’t serious, but Peter still couldn’t come up with a comeback. He was entirely blank and ended up shrugging in resignation.

“Perhaps.”

The underlying triumphant look in Tony’s face immediately had Peter wishing he’d never done that. Even though this little competition no purpose had. 

“Yeah, well, we have no mirror so perhaps you should just stick to drinking the alcohol, while I fix you up, my fearless, young friend.” He unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a swig before handing it over to Peter. “The best painkiller a man could hope for.”

Peter accepted it though having his defeat rubbed in his face was stretching his goodwill when it came to losing. But since he still hadn’t been pushed across the line that would have meant for him to become a sore loser, he eyed the bottle instantly remembering the unpleasant taste of strong alcohol from when they’d drunk Johnson’s rum on the first night of the mission.

“Drink up, kid.” Told Tony him before fishing a matchbox out of his pocket. He then proceeded to sterilise the needle.

Peter opened the bottle and moved it up to his nose to smell it, only for his face to wrinkle in on itself and he pulled away immediately. Tony was watching him with a cocked eyebrow and an amused grin while grilling the needle over a thin flame when Peter looked over at him again. 

“How do you expect me to drink this? It smells like something that should be nowhere near the inside of a person, but rather inside some kind of machinery.” 

The humoured look on Tony’s face had the unwelcome warmth of slight embarrassment and chagrin increase both the colour and temperature of Peter’s cheeks. 

“I can promise you that it is meant for a person to drink, though I won’t promise you that it can’t be used for machines as well. Why don’t you try and pinch your nose? Perhaps that would make the taste more enjoyable.”

Tony’s amusement only seemed to grow, with every passing minute, which Peter found exceedingly more and more annoying. So he chose not to spur the older man on - lest he’d get an aneurysm from all the fun he was having - and lifted the bottle to his lips. Peter was soon chugging the fiery liquid, all the while withholding eye contact with Tony. It burned all the way down his throat and his gag reflex was begging to be put to use - to which he didn’t listen. Perhaps it would’ve tasted less horrible if he _had_ pinched his nose. But that was too late now.

Tony was still grinning. Maybe even more so now.

“Okay... I think you’re good now.” 

He made a show out of it, taking his time saying the words as if he needed to calculate the amount Peter had drunk with what was left in the bottle. Peter didn’t feel the need anymore to keep on trying to display his adulthood or whatever it was he was trying to do and slammed the bottle to the table. Tony let Peter catch his breath as he proceeded to thread the needle. Which Peter was thankful for. 

He slowly found that perhaps the alcohol wasn’t all bad once the nausea went down. The warm sensation he was feeling in his stomach was a nice one and he quickly felt that same slow buzz spread outwards. 

Some time passed, where silence dominated the space between them comfortably, with Peter observantly watching Tony make the preparations. Especially his hands seemed to attract Peter’s attention. They were big though slender and with a slight tan from the Italian summer sun, that had since gone. Veins were visible beneath the skin as he moved them gracefully and determined. 

Peter would never say out loud how he wanted those hands, that he knew would be warm if he were to touch them, on his skin. Touching all over his body. He swallowed as he tried to force the thoughts to go away. Despite feeling a sense of heaviness in his body he felt on edge, and very much so when Tony finally looked back up at Peter as if trying to assess him and the state he was in. 

“How’s it going over there, kid?” 

Peter felt his voice stuck in his throat and feared that he’d sound weird if opened his mouth, but he tried to calm himself regardless.

“‘M good, I think.” He didn’t sound exactly like himself, and his fears were nearly confirmed when Tony hummed knowingly.

“Hmm mmh. I can tell from your face. You seem dazed.” Oh? So he hadn’t seen through Peter’s awkward exterior? 

“But you know what that means, right?”

Peter didn’t, and he didn’t dare guess, having the feeling he’d say something seriously stupid. So he shook his head and shot Tony a smile that probably looked idiotic and childish as he blinked with heavy eyelids. 

“That I’ll sleep well?”

Tony chuckled. It was a low rumble that had Peter feeling an impulse to lay a hand upon his chest so that he could feel the vibrations of it. He didn’t do it though. 

“No, not that. Or-“ his eyebrows pulled upwards with the slight smile on his lips, “probably when we’re finished but what I really meant is that since I only have one functioning arm, you’ll have to come closer so that I can do it properly.”

Peter had for a moment forgotten that his injury was the reason behind this situation, and it took a bit before he realised what Tony meant. It was amazing how quickly the alcohol had entered his bloodstream and incapacitated his entire function. If Tony for some miracle hadn’t thought of Peter as even a little bit dumb before, he certainly would now after Peter had stared at him obtusely for a good while.

But Tony wasn’t as teasing in his tone as before but on the other hand cordial and warm, which had Peter wondering as to why. Perhaps he was just going easy on him now that he was compromised and unable to keep up a fair fight. Peter moved his chair closer and leaned diagonally over Tony’s legs and the tabletop so that he could rest his head on his arms. His head was turned so his injury was directed at Tony, making it more accessible. The warmth radiated from his body and from the sorry smile Peter was regarded with when he looked up at him. 

“Jesus, I feel like I’m about to shoot a puppy.” 

“Please, Mr Stark. I’m not even whimpering yet.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he meant for his voice to sound as mischievous as it did, but Tony’s voice matched the flirtatious tone when he answered.

“Don’t worry, you will. And by the way, drop the honorifics and call me Tony. I don’t think there’s much militant regulation needed right now.”

Peter nodded. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Tony snorted with amusement.

“You know what? I suddenly don’t feel that bad about hurting you.” 

Now, Peter was the one laughing. Tony proceeded to push the curls that laid across his face out of the way, when Peter had finished, a mild smile gracing his lips. Peter closed his eyes with the motion that was so soft that he would have fallen asleep had it not been for the way his heart pounded vigorously behind his sternum. 

“Your hair’s gotten longer.”

Noted Tony.

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s up to army regulations any longer.”

“Nah, I don’t think so either, but screw that. Those curls look good on you.”

Peter felt his heart flutter but felt doubtful when he thought that it might not have been said with such meaning that Peter wished it had been. Wishful thinking. That was all it was, and it was the reason he read into it the way he did. He didn’t get to dwell on those racing thoughts for long, and the compliment soon seemed like an auditory hallucination. He heard the clink of glass before and the sound of Tony clearing his throat before he spoke again.

“I’m going to disinfect it now. It might sting.” 

It was difficult to classify the tone of his voice, so Peter responded with a small nod. The liquid, that was poured into the wound, was stinging, but Peter could only imagine that it would get more painful later on, so he convinced himself that this was nothing. Tony then proceeded to inform him that they were moving on to the real deal.

“It’ll be easy as pie.” He said. 

Peter doubted it, but shut up this time around, and turned out to be right. It was painful, even with the tipsy state he was in, and he had a hard time willing himself into not pulling away every time he felt the sharp point of the needle dig into his skin. Tony’s hand moved swiftly regardless of how Peter winced or whimpered.

“There.” Said Tony finally and leaned back in his chair as he had finished the torture. “Good as new.”

“Are we finished?” Asked Peter opening his eyes and raising his head.

“You bet.” 

“Can I see it?”

Peter’s fingers were itching, wanting to feel out the sewn together skin. 

“We haven’t got a mirror, kid.”

“Then… how does it look?”

Tony feigned looking deep in thought before he answered lightly.

“It looks great. Very manly. I’m sure the girls will be falling over each other and themselves to be the one to get their hands on you when you get back home. A war hero!”

Peter snorted displeased at the statement and rolled his eyes. The remark about girls didn't sit well with him, and the lightness of the words made him uneasy. Had the injury disfigured him? He kept himself from saying anything about both his affliction when it came to girls or vanity. Neither was going to help anyone and it would most likely just make things awkward. 

“ _If_ I come back.” He ended up mumbling instead as if that was better. 

“What? Of course, you’ll come home to England. They say the war is coming to an end.” 

Peter looked up at him with raised brows. 

“It’s coming to an end?”

Tony nodded. “That’s why the Germans have begun fighting dirty. Well, _even_ dirtier than they have up until now.”

It was difficult to believe when they had just been through multiple battles that they’d lost and when the German force emitted the air of a supreme military with those destructive weapons that transcended other nation’s weaponry. But he felt a sudden rush of happiness, regardless and would have cheered loudly, had he not been too tipsy and tired. But then the elaboration clicked with him. 

The fighting had become this ugly abominable excuse of a war which meant that there was no guarantee that he would survive. 

A lot could happen between now and then. For all he knew, if he didn’t get taken as a prisoner of war, he could be unlucky and get his face and arms blown off by a tank or a landmine. Or he wouldn’t get blown to bits, but instead, he would catch on fire and burn to death like those people inside the church. He could still hear their screaming as clear as were he reliving it all over again. The smell of burned flesh hung in the air, and Peter didn’t even remember if he _really_ had smelled it back then, since he’d been inside, or if his brain was making things up. 

Peter felt the other’s eyes on him when he’d been staring at the table in front of him for some time, and worried brown ones met him when he looked at his sergeant. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you, you know that, right?” Said the man stilled. 

Peter had to swallow, trying to force the lump in his throat down. “Yeah, I know.” 

Tony thought it was true, Peter knew that. But Peter also knew that it was a promise that could prove difficult to uphold. Since it did give him a little comfort, Peter didn’t want to discourage the attempted reassurance. Tony looked for a split second as though he was about to reach his hand out in a comforting manner, but then it was as if he decided against it, and let his hand slump back down on his side as he stood up. 

“Come on. Let’s get washed up, and go to bed.” He said as he threw a washing cloth Peter’s way. 

Peter didn’t catch the cloth, but it instead hit him on the chest from where it fell into his lap. He was about to take off his shirt when he suddenly felt self-conscious about it, much as he had felt back in the village when Tony had shown him how to shave. He looked at the man - not blatantly, but apparently enough for him to notice. 

“Don’t worry, kid. I won’t peek.”

His voice didn’t sound any different from how it normally did. On the contrary, it sounded as teasingly as always. Peter felt his cheeks get warm again. Of course Tony wouldn’t peek at him. They were both men, and there was nothing interesting about his boyish, skinny body anyway. He tried to shake the feeling of embarrassment and slightly misplaced disappointment as he stripped himself of the shirt and began wiping down his torso and the rest of his body. His limbs were heavy as he slid down his pants rendering himself nearly naked except his underwear and allowed himself a glance over at Tony who stood on the opposite side of the table. It was mostly out of concern towards how he was doing with only one arm, but he would certainly be lying if he said that there wasn’t any other reason behind. 

He nearly jumped as his heart did, when an intense look met him as he turned. Tony was already looking at him. And he continued to do so shamelessly, even as they both stood facing each other. Peter’s blush was increasing. He knew. He could feel it by the warmth in his cheeks. He wanted to look away from those dark eyes again, resume where he’d left off, washing, but found himself unable to do so. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins while his body was as tied to where he was standing when Tony let his eyes wander his body. 

Though Peter was ‘tied’, his limbs were suddenly not heavy anymore but instead tingling strangely under the scrutiny of Tony. The silence between them was strange, and Peter could’ve sworn that it stretched on for an eternity, though it probably lasted much less. Then a smile pulled at The corner of Tony’s mouth, as he broke the silence. 

“I could use a bit of help if you don’t mind?” He said, almost presenting the washcloth to Peter. 

It took a while before Peter got his brain and tongue working. “Yeah- of course.” Sounded his raspy voice.

The way that Tony kept on looking at him as he took the washcloth, and dipped it in the semi-clean water, was nerve-wracking and he felt more nervous than he did back in training camp when he had to climb the rope in front of everyone.

“It’s mostly just my healthy arm and back that’s difficult to reach.” 

Peter nodded as he stepped behind Tony and began wiping the broad shoulders down. The muscles looked as though they were sculpted in marble, had it not for the warm tone of his skin and the bruising. Peter’s thoughts were silent and racing at the same time, as he did it. When Peter’s hands came to a halt, having finished the back, turned Tony back around, leaning against the table. 

His eyes were back on Peter in an instant. Peter had to swallow as he took his hand with his own and raised the other's arm. He noticed a scar that looked a lot like a bullet wound near his heart, and wondered for a moment what had happened. He glanced up at Tony, wanting to ask him about it, but stifled the words before they could even form in his throat and looked back down. 

He dragged his attention back on track and ended up becoming very focused on being focused. He was finished way too soon and noticed suddenly and regrettably that he wanted to linger. And suddenly he _was_ lingering. It didn’t seem like Tony had a problem with it when he looked up at him again. 

He was watching him intently, and Peter felt himself being pulled closer in as if Tony had his own gravitational pull. They ended up so close together, that Peter could feel the other’s breath on his lips. And as if he were deaf and unable to hear all the alarms blaring inside his tired and drunken mind, he leaned in. Closing that final distance between them. 

Tony didn’t move away. And Peter wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating the feeling of Tony’s beard that scratched against his sensitive skin - or even worse if he was hallucinating the feeling of electricity that flowed from Tony’s lips as they moved against his. It came as a bit of a shock when he suddenly felt his entire body weaken against the other. He wasn’t as such struggling to hold himself upright - yet - it was more that he wanted something to support him, were his legs suddenly to give out underneath him. The kiss deepened with the motion of Peter putting his hands on Tony. He felt how the other froze and not long after came a hand up to meet with Peter’s chest, stopping him. It didn’t push him away, but it was enough to make Peter understand. The loss of the contact between their lips, was like losing something Peter had looked for his entire life.

“Let’s stop here.” Said Tony lowly.

Peter’s heart was all of a sudden tripped again. Had he done something wrong? Stupid question of course he had. That much was obvious. 

“I’m- I’m sorry.” He could barely make out the other’s face - it was all blur and mosaic behind the tears that tried to press out over the brim of his eyes.

“Don’t apologise, Kid.” 

Peter couldn’t tell if he meant that angrily or regrettably. “We’ve been through a lot these last days.” 

Peter wanted to say something - anything - but he didn’t want to risk worsening the situation. He bit his lips instead.

“ _You’ve_ been through a lot. We’re tired. And you’re drunk. We should go to bed.” 

Peter nodded, blinking the tears away exasperated. His teeth, that were branding his lips, were almost drawing blood, but it somehow helped him to keep himself together. At least until they got settled in beds made on the floor, and blown the candle out. The tears fell silently, but thankfully not for long, sleep embracing his hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :,(


End file.
